


Uncharted Territory

by FeistyPeachtron



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Nudity, Sex, Sexual Tension, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-01-29 05:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeistyPeachtron/pseuds/FeistyPeachtron
Summary: The Radio Demon has many secrets he likes to keep hidden. Unfortunately for him, Angel is a foolhardy-enough explorer to brave that uncharted territory.
Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 199
Kudos: 1622
Collections: Hazbin Hotel





	1. Alastor Didn't Smile When He Slept

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of Angel exploring Alastor's secrets, slowly uncovering more and more as Alastor allows him to get closer and closer. I've definitely got more ideas for short snippets like this, so expect more chapters of Angel's intrepid adventures to come! In the meantime, I'd love to hear any feedback you have about this one!

_Alastor didn't smile when he slept._

Angel hadn't noticed it at first, mostly because he had a tendency to pass out far earlier than the Radio Demon, but one night he awoke from a particularly bad dream--worse than most--and found himself face-to-face with the ex-serial killer and, though his face was shadowed in the late-night dim of the room, there was a clear downward slope to Alastor's mouth. Angel stared for a long while at that frown, at the frustrated furrowing of the other demon's brows. At first Angel thought that Alastor must just have a been having a bad dream that night--he could understand that--but two nights later, when he awoke in the middle of the evening once more, that frustrated expression was once again present across Alastor's facade.

Concerned, but obviously not willing to share such concern with his partner, Angel conducted an experiment, secretly staying up later and later, pretending to be asleep until he felt Alastor finally relax beside him and drift off to sleep. It was always the same: Alastor's body would release its bent up tension with a sigh, eyes closed, and that ever-present smile would slowly fade, eventually morphing into a stomach-churning frown of consternation. His brows would crease together, his eyes would dart around behind his eyelids, his deer ears twitching as though listening to a million sounds from every direction all at once.

Angel was transfixed.

He didn't realize how enamored he had been with this secret, nightly side of Alastor until he found himself sitting up in bed two weeks later, two hands on his hips, one cupping his chin, and the final twiddling fingers in excited anticipation, yearning to caress that clenched jaw, to smooth that creased brow. Alastor never showed emotion like this, never let his face contort in such unhappy ways. Even in his darker moments, when Angel had seen the other go to great lengths to inflict pain and suffering on another, Alastor never let his smile drop, never let a pinprick of concern slip through his perfectly-placed facade. When he sat there in the dark of their room, the hotel and all of Hell fast asleep around them, Angel was given the opportunity to see a side of this powerful, terrifying demon that no one else was allowed to see.

And finally one night it was too much for Angel, too intoxicating, too tempting. He rolled onto his side, stared at the sleeping figure, careful not to disturb Alastor's slumber. He assessed the other's face from every angle he could, watching with bated breath as Alastor fought the demons in his dreams, at one point his whole body shaking with the effort. And it was too much for Angel, too beautiful, too tragic, and so he lightly ran his hand across Alastor's cheek, gently attempting to caress the nightmares away. 

Alastor didn't respond at first, but he woke up. His eyes stopped darting about, his body froze, his ears whipped towards the sound of Angel's slow breathing. But he didn't open his eyes, didn't say a thing, didn't smile. And so Angel continued, slowly moving his hand across the other's face, tracing along the length of his jaw, the curve of his brows, the bridge of his nose, the scope of his lips. They quivered under his touch, though Angel wondered if he'd imagined that. 

"What are you doing?" Alastor finally asked, though he didn't push Angel away, didn't open his eyes, didn't smile. Angel held his breath for a moment.

"Trying to make you smile," the spider finally responded, his entire body tensed in anticipation for the bitter response he expected from his partner.

Instead, he got a smile.

But this wasn't an Alastor smile, not like Angel had seen before. This was something special, something small, something _real_. Eyes still shut to the world, to Angel, Alastor's lip curled up into a small grin and he leaned into the other's touch ever so slightly, accepting the affectionate caress of Angel's hands. Angel, awestruck, traced the edges of Alastor's bottom lip with his thumb.

"I thought my smile was creepy," Alastor noted, his body visibly relaxing, a strong arm wrapping around Angel's waist and pulling him closer in the bed.

Angel felt breathless, blown away by this new side of the Radio Demon. They'd been together for just a short while, were taking things slow--much too slow for Angel's liking--and yet here he was being let in on Alastor's secrets, on his hidden-away puzzle pieces.

"Not this one," Angel breathed out, still caressing Alastor's cheek with his hand as he felt the other drift back into the dreamscape, that tantalizing smile still etched across his lips.


	2. Alastor Had An Affinity for Rum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here I go with another one! This one got a little spicy! Let me know what you think and if there's any Alastor secrets you want me to have Angel find out!

_Alastor had an affinity for rum._

Now if there was one thing that Angel loved to do, it was drink. Hell, it was drink _a lot_. Beer, liquor, fruity drinks that tasted less like booze and more like a trip to the Caribbean--you name it and Angel would drink it. His favorites, though, were the ones that stung, the ones that burned as they went down and made you question why you were letting yourself make life decisions for yourself. Whiskey was his favorite, the cinnamon kind, with pure Russian vodka, on the rocks, coming in as a close second. The way they singed his throat, made his eyes water, choking him a bit--damn it was good. '_Fuck am I a masochist?'_ Angel thought to himself one evening, shooting back his third slap-to-the-face shot of Fireball.

It wasn't until they were together that Angel saw Alastor drink a spot of alcohol. He had always assumed the other drank--Alastor seemed to have a basic knowledge of the stuff and, besides, who wound up in the literal Hell without having a few sips here and there? But Angel had never seen him pick up a bottle, order a glass from Husk's bar, slip an unassuming brown paper bag into his back pocket--nothing. 

One evening, after shooting back his third taste of whiskey and questioning his sexual interests, Angel spotted his very favorite sexual interest walking through the lobby of the hotel, conducting his inspections as normal. For a moment, Angel just enjoyed the show, grinning like a fool as the Radio Demon moved from patron to patron, questioning some, mocking others, terrifying all. Eventually, though, watching wasn't pleasure enough and Angel felt what he liked to call his "more, more, more" gene kicking in, whispering sweet nothings of how lovely it would be to get Alastor wasted. Maybe he'd be a needy drunk, maybe an emotional one. Hell, maybe having a few swigs of alcohol would boost up that basically-non-existent sex drive that Angel was all too desperate to explore.

"Oh A~lastor!"

The call made the demon in question pause, ears twitching momentarily before he turned just his head towards the sound. He continued to smile--he always smiled--but he didn't look pleased. After all, interacting with the hotel guests, hearing their claims of "I want to be good" and "I'm going to go to Heaven!" was his favorite part of the day. But when he turned, Alastor's eyes fell on the familiar form of one Angel Dust, longs legs crossed, eyebrow cocked, grin inviting as he leaned back against the bar. Alastor felt a stirring, like the whirring of radio static, building in his stomach. He quenched it quickly.

"Ah, Angel, didn't see you there," Alastor responded, straightening his back and relieving the poor turtle demon he'd been harassing of his presence. 

Alastor sauntered over to the younger demon, taking his time to move across the room. The occupants, as always, moved aside, parting the waters for him like he was some sort of god. Alastor liked that feeling, of people respecting his space, of people fearing him. He didn't take his eyes off of Angel, but he could feel that fear coming off of the lesser demons that stepped out of his way, could smell it, inhale it like a drug, pulsing it through his system. By the time he reached Angel, he was high as a kite.

"What can I do for you?" Alastor posed as he stopped in front of the spider demon, head tilting in an inquisitive manner.

Angel took the moment to let his eyes wander the tall drink of dangerous water standing before him. He wasn't shy about his affection for the Radio Demon, even if they were supposed to be keeping their whatever-it-was under wraps. Angel's reasoning was sound--if he stopped flirting with Alastor it would look _more_ suspicious. And so he used it to his advantage, allowing himself long looks and loud, flirtatious, precedent-setting catcalls. Alastor wasn't much of a fan--every time they were alone he would remind Angel that public displays of affection were superficial at best, trashy at worst--but he would play along, publicly rejecting Angel time and time again. _'__Fuck, maybe I really AM a masochist'_ Angel suddenly thought, realizing that he enjoyed the fake chase, the public rejections, about as much as he liked the sting of whiskey on the back of his throat.

"You can join me for a drink," Angel finally responded after his eyes had done a full Tour de Alastor.

Alastor's gaze flitted to the three empty shot glasses sitting beside Angel, Husk pouring a fourth as the two demons spoke, before turning back to Angel.

"I'm not usually one to imbibe," he replied simply.

"I've noticed," Angel retorted, rolling his eyes, grabbing the drink Husk has just poured for him and throwing it back. He shivered a bit at the bitter feeling in his throat as he pushed the class back towards the bartender, silently asking for more. He continued, "I think it's bullshit. You're supposed to be some kinda super-powered demon badass, right? Drinking's like one of the pillars of evil behavior--how can you call yourself a Hell elite if you don't participate?"

Angel felt his fur stand on end as a hush fell over the room, the air becoming tight as all of the hotel occupants side-glanced to the pair at the bar. The crackle of radio static was haunting in the silence, and the only one seemingly even breathing was Angel; even Husk had stopped, positioned like a bartender in a movie on pause, rag in one hand, glass in the other, brows raised in shocked--and fearful--surprise. Alastor's countenance had grown darker, his eyes looking less like eyes and more like radio dials, and the static sound was getting louder.

_'Yeah, definitely a masochist_' Angel concluded, feeling an excitement bubbling in him as Alastor took a step up to him, smile still in place, but the cheer from it completely gone.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Alastor questioned, voice choppy and mangled, the static continuing to grow in volume.

"I said," Angel responded, swallowing loudly but never letting his challenging grin falter, "I don't think you can _really_ be all that powerful and evil if you won't even have a drink."

The air grew thicker. Alastor stepped closer, almost nose-to-nose with Angel. The spider demon felt a rush of panic momentarily hit him, honestly a little worried he had crossed some line, but that faded when Alastor reached out his hand towards Husk. Without taking his eyes off of Angel, the Radio Demon simply said, "Rum."

Husk was quick to comply, grabbing the nearest full bottle of rum he could manage and handing it over to Alastor. Once it was in his possession, Alastor, in one quick motion, put away his microphone stand and grabbed Angel by the front of his shirt, lifting him out of his seat. Angel let out a little squeak of surprise as his feet left the ground, and he briefly wondered why he'd never asked Alastor to choke him when they kissed. _'Oh, shut the fuck up, ya pervert'_ he told himself, trying to focus back on the situation at hand.

"Let's have a drink, then," Alastor said, though it was barely understandable at this point, mangled to the point of incomprehension, static booming throughout the room. 

In one swift motion, Alastor slammed Angel back on his feet and began dragging him from the room. The crowds didn't move this time, but instead stood as still as they could, as though Alastor couldn't see them if they stayed in place. Alastor didn't seem to mind, though, and just meandered around them, dragging a kicking and cursing Angel behind him.

"Hey now, fucker, this ain't cool! Let me go! Who the fuck do you think you are? I swear to god, you fuckers are all the same, thinkin' you can just come in an' take whatever the fuck you want! Let me go, damn it!"

And so on and so forth, all the way through the lobby and down the hallway until, just as the patrons were leaning into the doorway to see what would happen, the static crescendoed, the two demons blurred, and suddenly there was nothing in their place but open air and silence. A minuted, two minutes, three minutes passed until someone spoke up and broke that silence.

"Fuck," Husk groaned, "my best customer's about to be turned to fucking dust."

When Angel opened his eyes, he was not sitting in a puddle of his own innards like he had expected. Instead, he was sitting on a familiar lounge couch in the all-too-familiar grand suite of the Radio Demon himself. Cream walls with ornate gray molding, black furniture that looked fresh off the rack, a four-poster bed fit for a vampire lord, and the man himself, standing before Angel with a bottle of rum in one hand, two snifters in the other. There was no more static, no more dial-eyes, and instead the room was filled with a smooth, crooning blues instrumental that Angel couldn't place, but knew he'd heard before.

"Well fuck me sideways," Angel said, leaning back on the couch, lifting his arms to rest on the back, "looks like Charlie was right--getting to Heaven just took a little bit of concentrated effort."

Alastor barked out a laugh that made Angel shiver as he set the glasses down and began to pour two drinks from the bottle.

"Heaven is sitting in a hotel room with a bottle of rum? A bit disappointing for the 'pinnacle of paradise,' wouldn't you say?"

"You forgot about the company," Angel shot back.

"A serial killer who can have you choking on your own innards in a matter of seconds?"

"Look at you," Angel teased with a wink, "talking dirty before I've even gotten a single drink in ya."

Alastor barked out another laugh as he sat down beside Angel, close, intimately so. Angel felt his stomach flip as their legs rubbed against one another, and he bravely set a hand on Alastor's thigh before the sane part of his brain could tell him to stop. Alastor eyed the hand, briefly, but didn't push it away. Instead, he reached for the two glasses, handing one to Angel before taking a swig from his own. Angel eyed the other demon curiously, exaggeratedly checking to see if Alastor's glass looked emptier, eliciting an eye roll from the older demon.

"Just checking to make sure, Mr. Straight-Edge," Angel teased, grinning winningly at the other before taking his own drink. The spiced rum was strong, good stuff. Husk may not have been paying much attention to what he was grabbing for Alastor, but he'd subconsciously gotten a winner. "I don't need you pretending to be some cool, hardened badass just to impress me."

Alastor scoffed at the idea, taking another drink, and Angel watched as he closed his eyes and sighed contently, seemingly enjoying the taste quite a bit. Feeling the spiders eyes on him, Alastor popped his own open and glanced at his companion.

"What?" Alastor questioned. "Did you really think I didn't drink?"

"I mean, I've never seen it happen until now."

"That's because I don't like to do it publicly."

"Do you like to do _anything_ publicly?"

Angel got another patented Alastor-murder-grin from that one, but he pretended not to notice as he took another sip of the rum. When he was done, Alastor seemed to have calmed down and, Jesus Christ, was already pouring himself another glass. Angel watched Alastor, wide-eyed, wondering how the hell the other had blasted through the first drink so quickly.

"Fuck, it's not a race!" he blurted out, watching as Alastor took another drink, long and deliberate, draining damn near half the glass in one go.

"Angel," Alastor responded, almost seeming exasperated. He threw his arm around Angel's waist. Ooooh, _that_ was new. He continued, "I grew up in New Orleans in the home of a severe alcoholic almost a hundred years ago. You can't even imagine the strength of my tolerance."

Angel felt Alastor's hand tighten its grip, just slightly, as the Radio Demon took another drink from his glass.

"That sounds like a challenge," the spider demon posed, forcing himself not to bite his lip in anticipation.

"Maybe it is," Alastor shot back, and Angel didn't try to stop himself anymore, nibbling on his lower lip and eyeing Alastor like a piece of candy. He took a drink from his own glass, long and deliberate just like Alastor's, his eyes never leaving his finely-dressed companion. 

They continued like that for a while, drinking glass after glass of that spicy island rum, chatting a bit, teasing, _flirting_. Fuck, Alastor was _flirting_. And he was touching Angel--like, _really_ touching Angel. Throughout the entirety of their drinking and conversing, Alastor had his arm around Angel, his tight, powerful grip making the latter feel like some sort of arm candy or trophy wife. And Alastor was letting Angel touch _him_, much more than normal. Angel moved his hand across Alastor's thigh, tousled his hair, poked his cheek, rubbed his back, and more! And Alastor seemed to _like_ it!

"Okay," Angel finally blurted out, unable to control himself anymore, be that due to pure curiosity or the steadily rising levels of alcohol in his system as he finished glass number six, "I don't get it! You _never_ drink, not even around me, and yet I piss you off and suddenly you wanna have drinks an' sit on your fucking lounge couch an' be all touchy-feely? What's the deal?"

Alastor blinked quizzically at the other, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Are you not having fun?" he finally asked.

Angel scoffed. "Well, _duh, _I'm having fun! I've got ya all to myself, a seemingly bottomless bottle of rum, and you've had this whole 'you're mine', sexy-as-fuck grip on my waist ever since the first glass."

"So why are you complaining?"

"Because I don't _get _it! Why now? Why are you letting me touch your hair and rub your thigh and be all over you _now_? Is it just because you're drinking, because normally people would be really not fucking cool with that, but let me tell you, I've been wanting this for a long fucking time and I'm not about to pussy out just because you may regret some stuff in the morning."

The look of confusion on Alastor's face about knocked Angel out, Alastor looking like some sort of lost fucking puppy. His ears even dipped, like he was being scolded or something. What the _fuck_ was going on?

"What do you think I'm going to regret in the morning?" Alastor questioned.

"Well, _this_!" Angel said, motioning towards where their legs touched, to Alastor's grip on his waist, to the discarded bowtie on the floor and the top three buttons and collar of Alastor's shirt, which Angel had undone just moments before. "This whole being sexy an' flirty an' drunk together thing! This is so not you that its almost fucking scarier than when you get all dial-eyes and shit! And I like it--fuck, I'm _really_ liking it--but I'd also like to know, you know just for my own sanity, whether this is like a real thing happening or if I'm in some fever dream or if you're just doing this because you're feeling tipsy an' shit."

Alastor stared at the heated spider for a long time, silently eyeing him with that same contemplative look. Angel felt like a brat, like he was being a stupid stubborn bastard, and, hell, maybe he was, but he was four shots of vodka and six glasses of rum in and he didn't quite give a shit how needy or fucked up or whatever he looked. He wanted to know what the hell was going on.

Finally, Alastor looked away from Angel, releasing him from that fucking mind-bogglingly hot stare, and moved to set his snifter on the coffee table. Once done, Alastor turned to Angel and grabbed his glass, also setting it on the coffee table. Angel watched, half curious, half mildly terrified, and fully turned on, but not one hundred percent sure why. With both glasses now out of reach, Alastor returned his gaze to Angel and reached up his hand towards the other's face. Angel flinched, instinctively, but didn't pull away when Alastor grasped his chin. 

"Angel, I don't do anything unless I want to do it," Alastor said, his voice slow, deliberate, like his drinking. Angel felt his stomach churning with excitement and his head swimming with ideas. Alastor's grip on him was strong, both on his chin and on his waist, and he felt like he was about to just melt into the other demon's hands. "You asked me to join your for a drink and I wanted to, _in private_, and so I did. I wanted to share my favorite drink with you, and so I did. I wanted to put my arm around you," and he tightened his grip, "and so I did. I wanted to let you keep touching me, and so I did. I know you joke about it and pretend like you don't realize it or care, but I'm powerful--_very_ powerful--and I use that power to get what I want and do what I want. And what I wanted tonight was to have a good time with you. Is that okay?"

Angel was silent for a long moment, feeling Alastor's warm breath on his lips, feeling the firm grip that kept him that close. His hands were all on Alastor's chest, having moved there instinctively when he was pulled closer, and he was doing everything in his power not to use them to rip off every piece of clothing Alastor had on. Angel breathed slowly, trying to wrap his mind around how fucking good it felt to hear Alastor say all those things, until he finally felt like he could respond without his voice cracking.

"Yeah, that's okay," he said. Then, letting his mouth broaden into a teasing grin, "But, seriously? Rum? _That's_ your favorite drink? Why?"

Alastor rolled his eyes, chuckling, before responding. 

"Because it's spicy."

And in one swift motion he pushed forward and in an instant was kissing Angel, _really_ kissing him, and the spider demon felt like he was about to hyperventilate and drown and catch fire all at the same time. Alastor kissed him slowly, deliberately, pushing him down against the couch, and Angel tasted the spice of the rum and felt the burn of Alastor's heat and in that quick moment he realized just how fucking crazy he was for this dangerous beast.


	3. Alastor Died a Virgin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Another!" I shout as I smash an Angry Orchard on the ground. Glass shards fly everywhere. The smell of cider and booze lingers in the air. All is right in the world.
> 
> For real, though, I'm very inspired by this pairing lately. I'm particularly excited about their pasts coming out and being a point of discussion, so expect more of that! And if you've given a suggestion for a chapter "discovery" please know I have it recorded and am considering all options! Thank you all for the support so far and I hope you enjoy! Also, if you're enjoying this piece please check out my other Hazbin ones and let me know what you think!

_Alastor died a virgin._

Or, Alastor_ knows how to flirt. Very well._

"Wait, never?"

"No, Angel, never."

"Wait, like fucking _never_?"

"That's what I said."

"But like... _never_? Not once? Not even a little?"

"And what, pray tell, would constitute as 'a little'?"

"You need me to explain it to ya?"

"No, that's not what I-- Look, I don't understand why this is such a big deal," Alastor huffed, twirling his microphone, smiling without the emotion reaching his eyes. 

Angel spun around, away from the mirror he'd been using to get ready, and stared at Alastor, flabbergasted. 

"Big deal?" Angel shot back, all four visible arms animatedly gesturing as he spoke. "Of course it's a big deal!" The spider walked over to the other, his arm gestures and eyes simultaneously beginning to trace Alastor's figure. "Look at you!"

Confused, Alastor glanced down at himself, eyeing the red suit and bowtie with cautious suspicion. He stretched his arms up and down, walked over to the mirror and inspected his countenance, flicked his hair a bit. After a moment he finally looked back at Angel, shrugging. 

"I don't quite know what you mean."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Angel grumbled, grabbing Alastor by the shoulders and spinning him around to face the mirror once more. Standing behind the Radio Demon, Angel used his two other arms to gesture to Alastor's form like he was some sort of painting on display. "You're a goddamn heartthrob! Tall, thin, well-dressed, radiating some big 'daddy' energy, fucking color-coordinated! How the hell did _you_ never get laid?"

"You realize I didn't look like this in life, correct?" Alastor teased, grin broadening as he looked at Angel through the mirror. Angel frowned. 

"Okay, funny man," Angel retorted, gesturing hands now finding his hips. "Pray tell, what kind of poor, ugly-faced life did you lead?"

Alastor twirled around, shrugging his shoulders as he chuckled at his companion. He straightened his cuffs while answering.

"Now, I wouldn't say I was 'ugly-faced' or anything like that," Alastor remarked. "In fact, I was quite the handsome devil, even before becoming a demon." Angel rolled his eyes. "In my profession good looks got you far."

"Your profession?" Angel questioned, cocking a brow. "Radio?"

Alastor barked out a laugh, again twirling his microphone like a baton. 

"No, dear Angel," Angel _loved_ it when he called him that, "I mean serial killing. No one's going to go to a secluded cabin in the bayou with some inbred-mugged, ill-mannered, under-dressed pig. No, I was _quite_ the looker back then."

Angel kept up the disgruntled expression, arms still crossed, even as he suddenly gained a yearning to hear more about Alastor's life. He hadn't gotten much of the story, save for some misplaced tidbits here and there, and, frankly, he hadn't cared too much until now. Alastor was here in Hell with him, why should he give a shit about what he did up on Earth? But the thought of a humanoid Alastor, probably clad in some horrifically attractive three-piece suit and sporting some slick vintage comb over version of the pompadour, maybe with a loose curl falling in his eyes, his collar open to accommodate the hot southern Louisiana air, the scent of some fancy cologne mixing with his natural musk... _Fuck_. Angel shook away the distracting thoughts in his head, focusing his attention back on the Alastor standing before him.

"You're not making this any easier to understand," he pointed out. "Sounds like you were hot-fucking-stuff _and_ you were using it to entrap people. And yet you never stuck your dick in it?"

Alastor rolled his eyes at Angel's profanity, at this point used to it, but still never fully comfortable with it. 

"Just because I knew how to be sexy doesn't mean I had to have sex," Alastor retorted.

"But why _not_?" Angel practically begged, throwing up his arms in exasperation. 

Alastor merely shrugged in response, using his thumb to wipe at some smudge on the back of his microphone. 

"I was just never interested in having sex with anyone," he responded nonchalantly.

Angel stared, dumbfounded, at the Radio Demon. For someone who wanted to have sex quite literally _all the time_, the concept of never wanting to bone down was completely alien. For someone currently in a secret, behind-the-scenes some-kind-of-romance with Alastor, the concept of him never wanting to bone down was more than a little concerning.

"Wait, so, like... you weren't ever attracted to anyone? Never?"

It was Alastor's turn to be exasperated, the two taking turns in some frustrating game of misunderstandings and miscommunication.

"Angel, I kissed you quite literally five minutes ago. I can be attracted to people without wanting to have sex with them."

Angel narrowed his eyes.

"So you don't want to have sex with me? Ever?"

Alastor didn't roll his eyes or massage his temples or anything that Angel expected in response to the question. Instead, Alastor leaned on his microphone stand, eyes roaming over Angel's form as though assessing some goods. Angel had been checked out on a million and one occasions, but this felt different, more intrusive, more intimate, and the spider felt a bit bashful under Alastor's scrutiny. There was a long pause as the question hung in the air, Angel worrying that he'd maybe overstepped some boundary and fucked up the small opportunity he had been given to woo the older demon--he worried about that a lot.

"'Want' is a strong word," Alastor finally responded, gaze catching Angel's as his grin widened, "but I wouldn't be opposed to trying it out if it's what you wanted to do."

Angel felt the hair on his neck stand on end at Alastor's words and his throat suddenly went dry. Angel had had every sort of confession of affection or 'I wanna fuck you' comment thrown at him at some point during his time in Hell. He'd been accosted by strangers, propositioned by the elite, seduced by the basically-succubi, and yet for some reason Alastor's words made him more flustered and way hornier than any of those other times.

"Psh, pity-fucks aren't really my thing," the spider demon responded, feigning insult and lifting his chin indignantly so as to avoid being under the intoxicating scrutiny of Alastor's gaze any longer. A chuckle from Alastor almost made him look back at the Radio Demon. Almost.

"I wouldn't quite call it a pity-fuck," Alastor said, and Angel felt him move closer. He still refused to look at him, though. "I'm not really one for pity. However," and Angel was forced to look at the other as Alastor grabbed his chin and moved his face towards him, "I have quite the affection for you, which means that I'm willing to... go out of my comfort zone to please you." After a moment he added, "At least once."

Angel felt his stomach do a flip, not quite sure where the hell all of his wit and charm had disappeared to. Normally he'd have some quick-witted quip to shoot back at Alastor, some sort of suggestive flirtation to maintain the equilibrium of power, even if only minutely and subtextually. However, standing there under the hard gaze of the Radio Demon, Alastor basically giving him the go-ahead to get down and dirty, was a bit overstimulating and Angel felt sort of lost in the moment. And so he just stood there, staring, feeling simultaneously more flattered and more inadequate than he had perhaps ever felt before.

When a minute passed without Angel uttering a word, Alastor's grin grew, his eyes hooding in delight. "Well, would you look at that," he purred, making Angel's skin crawl for all the right reasons, "I've gone and found a way to keep you quiet. I'll have to proposition you more often."

Angel now very much understood how Alastor had been able to seduce a bunch of hot young things to a cabin in some Louisiana bayou. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing. Angel briefly imagined the same situation, but back on Earth: he, a hot young crime heir with a penchant for mind-altering narcotics; Alastor, a handsome older man with radio show fame and a devilish smile; the two meeting in some New Orleans club filled with jazz tunes and blues crooning. Damn, it was like something out of a movie. Angel tucked the idea away for future deliberation. 

"You back up those propositions with some actions and you won't be able to keep me quiet," Angel finally managed to get out, that flirty tone returning to his voice, even as it quivered ever so slightly. He winked at the other man, explaining, "I'm quite the screamer."

Alastor barked out another laugh, sending electric shocks running through Angel's body.

"What a coincidence," Alastor responded, his voice suddenly dipping into a much darker, though still quite attractive, tone. He wrapped an arm around Angel's waist, tugging the other close to him, "the ones who scream are my favorite."


	4. Alastor's First Love was a Nightclub Singer Named Annie Daley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this ended up much longer than I had anticipated. Oh well! Quick warning that there is a bit of attempted non-consensual sexual stuff, though nothing graphic.
> 
> Here is a link to Marion Harris's beautiful version of "After You've Gone" that's featured in the latter part of this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VW33oH_EkW4
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments and support I've been getting for these chapters and I hope you enjoy!

_ Alastor’s first love was a nightclub singer named Annie Daley. _

It took a few months of being constantly around the Radio Demon for Angel to notice that he had favorite tunes he would hum as he went about his business. At first, Angel just thought Alastor hummed a diverse range of jazzy tunes, but as specific melodies began to noticeably repeat, Angel paid closer and closer attention. And suddenly all Angel could hear was this tune, this "ditty" as Alastor would call it, that he repeated almost every day, like a mantra.

Of course, Angel hardly knew any of the songs from Alastor's time on Earth. Even though the demon had been alive right around the time Angel was growing up, the latter had always been a rebellious youth, challenging the idea that anything not new and modern was better than the rest. 

And so he decided to dig.

Angel had some... professional contacts that he was able to call upon in the musical industry. Now, he knew he had to do this in secret--Alastor wasn't one to allow someone to sneak around asking questions about him, even if that someone was a spider he, on the regular, sucked face with. So a rendezvous was set at a nightclub on the south side of the city, right on the cusp of Pembroke territory. 

Angel walked into the nightclub as nonchalantly as Angel could, which was to say not at all. He hadn't been to any sort of bar besides Husk's in a _ long _ time, and the thumping of the beat, the movement of bodies, the smell of sweat--it was a too much for him to just sit back and watch from the sidelines. And so as he made his way to the bar, Angel let himself have some fun, moving his hips, taking an offered drink from someone who recognized him, shouting out the lyrics to the song with the rest of the crowd.

Angel contemplated grinding on a few of the handsomer fellows he passed in the crowd, but for some reason when the thought circled his brain, his mind wandered to Alastor and he decided against it. _ Hmmm, that might be a problem down the line _, he noted to himself, suddenly very conscious of where he was and why he was there. He quickened his pace and reached the bar in just a few moments, glancing around for his target. It took a moment--there were a LOT of people here--but Angel finally spotted his mark.

Sitting at the end of the bar, others giving him space even as the nightclub got fuller and fuller, was a wolf demon, his ears perked to the music around him, his large hands tossing back some amber drink, his thick tail flicking with the beat of the music. He was handsome, _very_ handsome, with an air of control radiating from him. If Angel had been there for a different reason, on a different mission, he might have tried to screw the guy. Instead, he grabbed his drink and sauntered over, the only person seemingly willing to even get near the guy.

"You're Wolfgang, I assume?" Angel purred, grinning at the man as he dropped into the seat next to him. Hell, just because he was taken--_ fuck _ that thought was an interesting thought, being taken by Alastor--didn't mean he couldn't flirt a bit, right?

The wolf eyed him with a yellow gaze, toothy grin spreading across his features, a fang glinting in the flashing lights of the club. He had on some sort of old-school French style coat and fluffy shirt, his blonde hair long and pulled into a low ponytail. Angel wasn't sure if the guy was _ actually _ born in the 1800s or whenever that look was a style, but it reminded him of that Lestat guy from the gay vampire movie, which he liked very much. He hadn't actually seen the movie in life--he died long before it was even an idea--but he had been forced to watch it as "homework" for a vampire-themed porno he had starred in after arriving in Hell. Vampire fantasies for _ weeks _ after that one.

"Angel Dust," the man said, his voice a low rumble, "what a pleasure to finally meet you."

Wolfgang glanced at the almost-empty glass in Angel's hands and waved at the bartender, who stopped mid-pour and walked over, ignoring the frustrated cries of some young chick with hair the color of cotton candy. Handsome _and_ fearfully respected--just Angel's type!

"Get my lovely guest anything he wants, on the house," Wolfgang informed the bartender, who nodded and looked to Angel for a response.

"Well, don't you know how to treat a lady," Angel teased, winking at Wolfgang before putting an order in with the bar. "I'll have a Sapphire Martini."

The bartender got to work quickly and Angel observed, despite feeling Wolfgang's eyes on his form. He ran his finger around the rim of his drink before lifting it to his lips, slowly, deliberately finishing off the last bits of liquor in it. Only after downing the rest of the drink did he turn his gaze to Wolfgang, eyes hooded, grin inviting. Angel had been around plenty of bigwigs before--he knew how to keep them guessing and get them ready to do whatever the hell he wanted.

"So," Wolfgang said, his eyes tracing the curves of Angel's body. Angel shivered a bit under the oggling, "Cherri mentioned you needed my help."

"Oh yeah!" Angel said, remembering the whole reason he had even come to the nightclub in the first place. He nodded a thanks to the bartender as his drink was delivered and took a swig of the expensive booze before explaining his situation to the wolf demon. "So there's this song and I don't know what it's called or even the lyrics or anything like that, but I really need to know what it is, and I figured since you're some big-shot in the music industry down here, you could help me out!"

The look on Wolfgang's face was not exactly what Angel had anticipated. The man, previously having been grinning at Angel like he was some sort of giant-sized lollipop in a candy store, now looked at him with utter confusion.

"You... want me to help you identify a song?"

Angel felt suddenly unsure of himself and he glanced around, equally confused. 

"I mean, yeah," he replied, taking another sip of his drink, more tentatively this time. "What'd ya think I was here for?"

After a moment, Wolfgang barked out a laugh, loud enough that some nearby patrons turned in surprise, the sound reaching them even as the thrum of the club music boomed around. Before explaining, Wolfgang shot back the rest of his amber drink, slamming the glass onto the bar top with a force that made Angel question how it hadn't shattered.

"Well, when Cherri came to me she made it sound like you needed some... ah... protection or something."

Angel's brows furrowed. He thought back on what he had said to Cherri when they'd met up earlier in the week. He supposed that he _ had _ looked a bit disheveled, but that was just because he had had to rush out to meet her at the restaurant so that he wouldn't have been missed. Vaggie was forcing him to do some shitty little publicity event for the hotel and if she'd known he had run off in the middle of it, she'd have killed him. And he supposed that he maybe could've phrased things a little more clearly.

_ "If he finds out I'm here talking to you about this, he's gonna fucking kill me! But I gotta get some help! I'm about to lose my fucking mind! You said you know that big, powerful music guy, Wolfgang, right? I need you to set up a meeting with him for me! If he's as good as you said he is, then he'll definitely be able to help me! I'll do fucking anything! I should be able to sneak out next Tuesday, but you can't say a fucking word of this to anyone except Wolfgang! If Alastor knew we were even talking about this, let along making these plans, he would fucking kill us both, I swear to god!" _

Ah, yeah, Angel could understand how that could be misconstrued.

"So you thought I was coming here to..."

"...to ask for my help and make me an offer I couldn't refuse," Wolfgang finished with a nod and a chuckle. In the same moment he reached one of his large hands over, setting in on Angel's thigh. "Though please don't think I'm not still willing to make a deal."

Now, Angel had been touched by guys _ plenty _ of times. Hell, he'd been touched in worse places and by worse men than this. Way worse. But something about the moment, something about the way Wolfgang gripped him, let his hand move slowly across the spider's leg, had an uncomfortable itch climbing up the back of Angel's neck. He thought of Alastor and felt... guilty. _Fuck, that's DEFINITELY going to be a problem down the road_, he thought as he squirmed, slightly, and decided he definitely didn't like Wolfgang's hand on his body.

And so he pushed it away.

"Look, I just need some help with figuring out this damn song title," Angel responded, sipping at his drink and trying to act like he didn't notice the shocked look on Wolfgang's face. "I didn't come here to be some chew toy for a Napoleon-wannabe puppy. I've got money, so I can pay you or so-"

Angel stopped short as Wolfgang's hand returned to his thigh. Angel glanced down at it, frowning. The wolf's grip was stronger, almost painfully so, and when Angel turned his gaze back to the other's face he was still smiling, but there was something uncomfortable vicious about the grin and his fangs looked far more menacing than they had previously.

"Look, buddy, I'm not gonna just let you-"

"You know, I was pretty excited when Cherri told me that _ the _ Angel Dust wanted to meet me, _ needed _ me even, was willing to do whatever I wanted to get my help." Wolfgang's words came out in a much darker tone than before, more of a growl than anything. Angel felt something sticky and menacing growing in the pit of his stomach. Wolfgang leaned in close enough for Angel to smell the alcohol on his breath before continuing. "I've been a fan of yours for quite a while, you know. I could just imagine the types of things you could do for me, what sort of contract we could set between us, the favors we could do for each other. I don't really _ like _ walking away from deals that good."

Angel stared into those yellow eyes, swallowing slowly. He felt like a slab of meat, and not the good kind. Wait, was there a good kind of feeling like a slab of meat?

"Look, fucker-" Angel began, but changed tactics when he saw Wolfgang start to interrupt him. Instead of finishing his sentence, Angel threw his drink in the demon's face.

Wolfgang didn't continue what he had begun to utter, but he also didn't let go of Angel's thigh. In fact, his grip tightened, now definitely painful, and his other hand smacked the martini glass away before wrapping tightly around Angel's wrist. The glass shattered against the floor, loud enough that a few people, including the bartender, glanced over, but no one came to help, not even as Wolfgang stood, forcing Angel up with him. Angel watched as the bartender intentionally turned his back to the two of them, moving to talk to a customer on the other side of the bar. 

Panic began to rise up in Angel's gut as he tried to think of a way to get out of this bastard's hold. But Wolfgang was already moving his hand from Angel's thigh to his waist, manhandling him in the direction of a nearby doorway into the backrooms. Angel fought against the wolf demon, cursing and spitting in his face, punching and pushing with all of his available appendages, but he wasn't able to slip out of the wolf's strong grip. 

"No, fucking stop you asshole!" Angel shouted, but the patrons of the bar either didn't hear him over the music or, more likely, ignored him in an attempt to avoid involving themselves. "I don't fucking want this. Let me fucking go!"

"You're a fucking whore," Wolfgang growled in his ear as he kicked open the door, "this is what you fucking do."

Angel continued to try to escape Wolfgang's hold, even as the door began to close behind them, shutting them off to the main area of the club. The panic was definitely setting in, filling Angel's brain and making things begin to go blurry. He'd always had someone to help with this sort of asshole--Cherri, Valentino, _ someone _ who was threat enough to keep this type of fucker from going too far. But they weren't there, Angel had specifically made that happen by keeping this whole goddamn thing so hush-hush. He slammed his eyes shut as the door closed behind them, cutting off the majority of the music, Wolfgang dragging him towards something down the hallway, presumably a room of some sort where he'd do some horrible fucking things to him. _ Angel you fucking idiot... _

"I'm pretty certain I heard him say he wasn't interested."

Recognition of the crackling voice came in the same moment that Angle felt Wolfgang's grip on him loosen and then completely disappear. Angel fell back, not prepared for the sudden freedom, and he quickly opened his eyes and desperately searched for the owner of the voice. When his multicolored gaze fell on Alastor, he was all dial-eyed and pissed, the crackling of static radiating from him at deafening levels. Wolfgang was in his hands, suspended in the air by his lapels, and the wolf looked like he was about to piss himself with fear. Angel just sat there, awestruck at the scene. 

"Where the fuck did _ you _come from?" the spider breathed out, mouth hanging open. 

Alastor seemed either not to notice or he ignored Angel's words, his attention completely focused on the pup in his hands. He tilted his head, cracking his neck in the process, and eyed Wolfgang so intently that Angel wondered, briefly, if the Radio Demon was frozen in place. That idea was short-lived, however, as Alastor tossed the wolf demon away like a sack of rags. Angel watched the man fly through the air, crashing into a nearby wall and sliding down to the floor in a heap of fur and fancy blue lace. Angel hadn't seen Alastor actually _ do _ anything to the man, but he'd definitely caused some damage somehow. 

The sound of footsteps heading his way pulled Angel out of his stupor, forcing his gaze away from the crumpled mess that had, just a moment earlier, been trying to fuck him. He turned to face Alastor, now standing above him, and tried for a tentative smile. Alastor was smiling, but it wasn't a good smile. He wasn't dial-eyed anymore, though, so that was a good sign. Angel gulped and began to heave himself up, but Alastor was quicker, pulling Angel to his feet so fast that Angel had to take a moment to steady himself.

"Well, you don't look too worse for wear," Alastor said, weirdly casual, hands moving across Angel as though inspecting him for fleas or something. "You're lucky I intervened when I did."

"No kidding," Angel retorted, snorting. He relaxed a bit with Alastor's hands on him, even if they were being a bit aggressive with the checking for injuries. Angel was about to make some witty remark about Alastor feeling him up when he suddenly became very aware of how weird it was that Alastor was even there in the first place. "Wait a minute, what the hell are you doing here?"

Alastor stared at his companion with a quizzical look.

"What do you mean what am I doing here? I followed you, of course!"

Angel gaped.

"Well why were you fucking following me?"

"Well, I knew you were sneaking around for some reason," Alastor said thoughtfully, pulling his hands away from the other's hips, much to Angel's distaste. He also wasn't too happy that Alastor apparently had known he was trying to be sneaky. Alastor continued without missing a beat, "and I didn't want you getting yourself killed or anything--that would be bad on numerous fronts--and so I thought I'd follow you and make sure you didn't go off and get yourself hurt."

Briefly, Angel wondered if this was some sort of ripple of Alastor's days as a serial killer, the whole feeling-inclined-to-follow-around-someone-you-were-interested-in thing seeming really fucking creepy to the spider. But Alastor seemed to see no real problem in the behavior, casually adjusting his cuffs as he eyed the pile of dog lying nearby.

"You know, we should probably head out before anyone comes looking for him," Alastor noted, turning his gaze back to Angel, grin broadening. "Don't need any bad publicity for the hotel."

"Yeah," Angel scoffed, eyes rolling, "I can see the headline now: _Radio Demon Fucking Murders Famed Wolf Musician Because He Tried to Touch his Boyfriend's Dick_. Charlie would have a heart attack." Angel laughed, trying to ignore how weird of a situation this was, but when he felt Alastor's gaze on him he quieted down. "What?" he asked.

"Numerous things," Alastor said, slowly, like he was mulling something over. "First, that's a horrible headline--no editor would let that through. Second, he's not dead," and Alastor kicked the wolf demon to demonstrate, eliciting a soft whimper from the man, "just severely mentally maimed. And third, you just called yourself my 'boyfriend' and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. After all, I'm not sure you can be my boyfriend until we've gone public and I don't feel inclined for that to happen in a news headline about me defending your honor--seems contrived."

_ Why does this always happen with _ him? Angel asked himself as he felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. He'd never felt embarrassed or shy in Hell before, not before meeting Alastor. Hell, the last time he had ever felt bashful was when he was alive and trading suggestive glances with one of Pops' underlings while they were meeting with the family. But somehow Alastor was always able to make the spider feel just a bit inadequate and just a bit nervous, all at once and all in weirdly exciting ways.

"Look, 'boyfriend' is just easier to say than 'fuck buddy who he doesn't even fuck'," Angel retorted, arms crossed, voice indignant in a childish attempt to mask his self-consciousness.

"We've talked about that," Alastor pointed out, and Angel felt even more the fool as he recalled how stuttering and dumb he'd acted in the wake of 'Alastor' and 'sex' being combined in the same conversation in a serious matter. Fuck, why did he always have to do this? He was going to snap some other, bitter response, on instinct, but Alastor continued before he could. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Angel would have protested, again simply on instinct, but Alastor's hand was on his lower back, guiding him further down the hallway and towards a back door with a neon EXIT sign hanging over it. Angel felt his skin prickle where Alastor touched him, the spot warming. His body almost moved on its own, allowing Alastor to lead him to the exit, and he justified his "giving up" on the argument with the notion that Alastor didn't touch him this tenderly very often and so he should enjoy it while he could.

"So what were you sneaking about for?"

Especially when Alastor was about to find out how Angel was using outside, powerful sources to try to learn more about him. _Fuck_.

"Oh!" Angel replied as Alastor opened the exit door for him, the two slipping into the alley behind the nightclub. "Oh, you know, just uh... needing some... drugs?"

Angel grinned at Alastor in a way he hoped covered up the lie. It didn't. Alastor's grin just broadened; he was enjoying this. Angel had noticed that Alastor always enjoyed seeing Angel struggle to fib, the way he fumbled around with the fake stories.

"You're lying," Alastor replied, hand still on the small of Angel's back, guiding him towards the end of the alley and back into society.

"Psh, wha~t?" Angel crooned, feigning surprise. "What are you fuckin' talking about? I was there for drugs, that's all."

"Angel."

The demon in question froze in his tracks, grimacing at both the commanding tone in Alastor's voice and the wave of horniness it brought rushing through him. He slouched, giving up, accepting his fate. Hell, maybe Alastor would go all megalomaniac and have his way with him before turning him to dust. That'd be a nice way to go out.

"Look," Angel finally relented, pouting, arms crossed, refusing to look directly at the other demon, "I was trying to figure out what that song is you're always humming around the hotel."

Angel slammed his eyes shut, waiting for the moment in which Alastor poofed him out of existence, but after a moment of silence, he peaked through his lids at the Radio Demon. Alastor stood their, grinning, head tilted, staring at Angel like he was some sort of puzzle.

"What?"

"T-The song you're always humming," Angel repeated, and he hummed a bit of it before continuing. "I always thought you were just singing whatever-the-fuck, but I got to noticing that you hummed that one a _lot_ and so I figured it was important and so I wanted to know what it was."

Another long pause.

"So why didn't you just ask me?" Alastor questioned and Angel retreated further into his slouched, grimacing countenance.

"Because... Because I don't know, look at you!" and Angel animatedly threw his hands at the other man. "You're, like, the scariest guy down here! You literally just looked at a man five minutes ago and he keeled over like a pile of limp dicks! And I figured the song had something to do with when you were alive and you don't like talking about that to anybody, so I got nervous that you'd get mad and, I don't know, brain fuck me or something! And I'm trying really hard not to piss you off and get killed or have you stop talking to me or something, because I'm really liking this whole 'secret boyfriend' thing, even if it's aggravating and slow-going and I'm constantly terrified that you're just gonna tell me to fuck off. So I talked to Cherri and made her help me get in contact with Wolfgang because he's in charge of the music industry and I figured he'd be able to tell me what the song was, but then I guess I freaked Cherri out and made her think you were like beating me or some shit and then Wolfgang got all Howie Mandel on me and just..."

Angel trailed off, realizing he had just said a _lot_ more than he had intended. He stared at Alastor, mouth hanging open, arms frozen in the air where they had been swinging around as he ranted. Alastor's brows were raised so high that they'd disappeared under his bangs, and his smile was gone, something that made Angel extremely nervous. The two stood like that for a long moment, time ticking by at a horrifyingly slow pace, the whir of the city streets and the faint thump of the music from back inside the club sounding like a symphony compared to the silence between them. Finally, Alastor relaxed and his grin returned, spreading across his features as his eyes hooded and he reached over to grab Angel's hand. The spider felt his heart to a little flip as Alastor began to tug him away from the alley.

"If you wanted to know about the song, you should've just asked," Alastor said over his shoulder, guiding his companion into the open city streets. "It'll be better if I show you."

When they entered society, Alastor still guiding him by the hand, Angel thought he, quite literally, was about to explode. Alastor had never held his hand before, and it felt like another moment that Angel wasn't supposed to have--like this was some sick joke to put him into a false sense of security. How the hell did he keep fucking up and yet managing to keep Alastor around? Hell, Alastor was even getting _closer_ to him it seemed! 

The two walked together for quite a few blocks, Angel following the Radio Demon around like a lost puppy, gripping his hand like he was scared Alastor would disappear. To be honest, he _was_ a bit scared that Alastor would disappear. _Maybe this is a dream_, Angel contemplated as he was led around. _I've had weirder dreams than this before--maybe I'm about to wake up in some back alley, high as a kite._

But Angel never woke up, the moment didn't end, and eventually they stopped in front of a set of stairs that dipped down to a basement door, a sign above reading "The Tick-Tock Club." Angel's brows furrowed and he glanced over at Alastor, standing there looking proud.

"Another nightclub?" the spider questioned and Alastor barked out a laugh, squeezing Angel's hand, causing Angel to just about pass out. 

"This one is of a _much_ higher caliber than that last one," Alastor responded and then, without warning, started leading Angel down the stairwell and through the door.

Entering into the club was akin to stepping back in time. The lights were dimmed, everyone was in suits, cigar smoke filled the air, and the soft crooning of a saxophone filtered through it all. Angel just observed, dumbfounded, as Alastor guided him to a private table in the back of the room. They plopped down and a waitress wearing a tasseled dress and pearls came over with some waters, removing the RESERVED sign from the center of the table. The band on stage was going through some instrumental warm-up and there was a soft accompaniment of chatter from the patrons as they waited for the show to start.

"Al, what is this?" Angel questioned, leaning over to whisper the inquiry quietly to his companion. They were still holding hands under the table--Angel wasn't about to let that thing go until Alastor forced him to--and he tentatively squeezed it as he posed his question. 

"You'll see," was the only thing Alastor responded, glancing at Angel from the corner of his eye, grin broadening just slightly, before he turned his attention back to the musicians on stage.

Angel took the moment to really take a good look at the Radio Demon. He looked like he belonged in this place, like he was meant to be sitting in some dimly-lit, smoke-filled room, the sounds of jazz radiating around him. He looked dashing, honestly, and Angel found his mind wandering to Alastor's life, to what he was like back in the 20s. Angel could just picture him sitting in a club just like this after a long shift at the station, sipping on a rum and coke, maybe snapping his fingers to the faster songs, perhaps finding his next victim among the patrons. Angel wondered, briefly, if he'd ever get to hear about Alastor's life, if the other would ever share that sort of stuff with him. Angel had told Alastor plenty already--he really couldn't keep his mouth shut around the guy, huh?--about his mother, his sister and brother, his father. He had told him about struggling to find his place on Earth, feeling disconnected, the abuse, the overdose. And yet he hardly knew anything about Alastor outside of the fact that he lived in Louisiana, he had worked at a radio station, and he had killed people--a _lot_ of people. 

Angel's musings were interrupted by a woman stepping out on stage. She had pure white skin and big, round eyes, blue sapphires taking the place of her pupils, matching the sapphire necklace and earring set she wore. She was a small thing, petite, dressed in a simple little black dress and fluffy navy shawl. Her hair, cropped short and curled, was a pale yellow, pinned up with a navy headband. She took hold of the microphone and smiled winningly at the crowd as they softly clapped for her entrance.

Angel leaned over to whisper to Alastor, "Who's that?"

"That's Annie," Alastor said and the way he said it, so tenderly, so softly, made Angel's gut wrench with jealousy. He stared at the man, who in turn stared at this woman, and Angel felt sick to his stomach. He turned his attention back to this Annie, dread filling him.

"Thank ya everyone," she greeted with a thick Louisiana accent, raising her hand in a wave. There were glittering sapphire scars criss-crossing up and down her arm. "For those of you new to the Tick-Tock Club, my name's Annie Daley. For my first song, I'll be singing my favorite little tune from way back when. I remember hearing it on the radio every time I was driving home from work. It's called 'After You've Gone' by the beautiful Marion Harris."

After a short, quiet applause from the congregation, the band began to play and as Annie began to sing, Angel shot straight up in his chair, eyes going wide. 

_"Now won't you listen honey, while I say,_   
_How could you tell me that you're goin' away?_   
_Don't say that we must part,_   
_Don't break your baby's heart"_

The song was the same one that Alastor was always humming around the hotel. 

_"You know I've loved you for these many years_   
_Loved you night and day,_   
_Oh honey baby, can't you see my tears?_   
_Listen while I sa~y"_

Angel turned to watch Alastor, observe his reaction, and that lump in his throat grew. Alastor stared at Annie Daley like she was some kind of marvel, leaning on his fist, propped up on the table, head swaying slightly to the beat as he hummed the tune.

_"After you've gone and left me cryin'_   
_After you've gone there's no denyin'_   
_You'll feel blue, you'll feel sad_   
_You'll miss the only pal you've ever had?"_

"You knew her in life, didn't you?" Angel questioned, quiet enough that he thought Alastor wouldn't hear, but the Radio Demon nodded, never looking away from the woman on stage.

"She was the first person besides my mother I ever loved."

_"There'll come a time, now don't forget it_   
_There'll come a time when you'll regret it_   
_Oh, babe, think what you're doin'_   
_You know my love for you will drive me to ru~in_   
_After you've gone, after you've gone awa~y, awa~y"_

Angel felt his stomach drop and he looked from Alastor's face to their entwined hands under the table to Annie Daley crooning on stage and back again.

"What happened?"

_"After you've gone and left me cryin'_   
_After you've gone there's no denyin'_   
_You'll feel blue, you'll feel sad_   
_You'll miss the only pal you ever had"_

"Nothing," Alastor replied, shrugging. His eyes still hadn't left Annie's form. "I saw her perform at a nightclub in New Orleans when I was 15, when things were going particularly bad for me, and I just fell in love with her right then and there. I went to every show she put on, saw every performance on the riverboats, clapped and cheered after every song. Every night when I got to the station, the first song I played was this one, just because I knew she loved it so much. But that was it--I never talked to her, never approached her, never even tried to catch her after a show and congratulate her."

_"There'll come a time, now don't forget it_   
_There'll come a time when you'll regret it_   
_Oh babe think what you're doin'_   
_You know my love for you will drive me to ruin"_

"Why didn't you ever talk to her?" Angel asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he watched Alastor watch Annie.

"I never needed to," Alastor replied, finally turning his gaze to meet Angel's. He was smiling, softly, gently, eyes hooded, a unique look to grace the powerful demon's face. "There wasn't anything she could offer me other than her lovely voice and her sweet stage persona. I don't really think I'd have liked her much if we'd ever met--it might have ruined the image I'd created of her--and so I was content with just admiring her from afar." 

_ "After you've gone, after you've gone away" _

"You still love her?" Angel asked, heart racing.

"I do," Alastor responded, and Angel's breath hitched in his throat, "but it's mostly for what she represents." He turned back to Annie, watching her sing her final, elongated line. 

_ "I said awa~y" _

"Like I said, I wasn't in a good place when I first saw her perform. My mother had just died. Annie and her voice and this song were the one good thing I thought I still had. It's humbling to come listen to her here, to remind myself of that sliver of humanity I once had."

Annie's song came to a close and the room clapped for her. Alastor pulled his hand away from Angel's to join the applause. Angel didn't clap, too lost in his thoughts. Annie bowed and said her thanks before starting the band up on a different song, a faster one, more upbeat. Angel felt Alastor's eyes on him, but he didn't look over, instead just staring at his glass of water. 

"Did you like the song?" Alastor asked.

Angel didn't answer the question, instead posing his own, still refusing to look at the other demon. 

"Why'd you bring me here?"

"Well, to hear Annie perform," Alastor responded as if it was the simplest thing. "You wanted to know what the song was and I knew I couldn't do it justice, not like her."

"But why'd you tell me all that stuff about Annie and your mom?"

It was Alastor's turn to be quiet, to think. Angel glanced sidelong at the other demon, waiting for his response. The Radio Demon looked puzzled, perhaps even mildly concerned. He pursed his lips, even as he continued to smile, and briefly glanced back to the singer at center stage before turning his gaze back to Angel.

"You know, I'm not quite sure," Alastor responded and Angel may have been upset at the answer, but Alastor followed it up by grabbing his hand again and continuing. "I normally don't like people knowing about my past, about my life, but I liked knowing you were interested. I wanted to share it with you, share Annie with you."

Alastor had said it so casually--it felt like he always said sweet shit so casually--and Angel had to take a long, quiet moment to process. He looked down at their entwined fingers, back to Alastor, and frowned. God, he loved this, but it was fucking killing him. 

"What exactly am I to you?" the spider finally said, forcing himself not to look away from Alastor's gaze.

"Well, you're my secret boyfriend," Alastor responded with a teasing grin, lifting their entwined hands up and pressing his lips to the back of Angel's, "and, I guess, this is our first date."

Angel stared at Alastor for a long moment as Annie crooned on stage. His eyes were wide, his mouth unabashedly hanging open. The Radio Demon chuckled at Angel's reaction and lifted their entwined hands so he could poke Angel in the forehead before lowering them beneath the table again. The action was enough to pull Angel out of his stupor and while he felt almost like crying--fuck, how mortifying would it be to cry because Alastor was being sweet? He'd never live it down--Angel laughed instead, squeezing Alastor's hand like it was the most natural thing.

"What's so funny?" Alastor asked, but he was chuckling still, too.

"I thought you were some sort of suave, serial killer Casanova," Angel teased, feeling comfortable again, feeling happy, "but for our first date you brought me to see your ex perform. Pretty amateur move, I'd say."

Alastor's grin widened and he cocked a brow in flirtatious response. "So have I fucked everything up and scared you away?"

"Eh, I'll give you another chance," Angel responded, shooting his companion a wink and squeezing his hand again like it was the most natural thing. "But only if you buy me a drink first."

"Gladly," Alastor chuckled, waving for the waitress. She bustled over, took their order, and scurried off. Angel watched her go, trying not to grin so much as he felt Alastor's thumb gently rubbing the back of his hand.


	5. Alastor Had a Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is a lot shorter and a lot more lighthearted than the last one, but think of it as the calm before the storm. I'm working on a highly-emotional zinger for the next chapter and this was a nice breather between writing sessions for that one. 
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy this silly little interlude!

_ Alastor had a tail. _

Angel had snuck into Alastor’s room after grabbing a bite to eat, making sure no one noticed as he made his nightly visit. He was a bit early, sure, but he didn’t think it would matter. Hell, he was kind of excited to know that Alastor was just a few feet away, naked in the shower, while Angel lounged across his four-poster bed. The bed was probably Angel’s favorite part about Alastor’s room, the black sheets made out of a satin-y material, the bedset soft and heavy and designed like some sort of auspicious Victorian vampire’s would be, the curtains a flattering dark gray that shut out any and all light when closed around them. Angel felt like a queen whenever he spent the night in the bed, curled up next to the slumbering Radio Demon, hidden away from the rest of Hell in their private little castle. 

Thus, the bed made for a perfect place to sit and wait for Alastor to get done showering. Granted, Angel contemplated slipping his way into the shower  _ with _ Alastor, but he figured that would be a bit too forward for the powerful demon to handle, and Angel didn’t particularly want to end up a pile of mush streaming down the drain anytime soon. So instead he waited, lying back on the comfortable, oversized bed and closing his eyes. Alastor sang when he showered--well, he sang a lot of the time, but he  _ also _ sang in the shower--and Angel enjoyed the sound quite a bit. 

Now, Angel didn’t expect Alastor to take long in the shower--he didn’t seem like a “long shower” kind of guy--and soon enough the spider heard the water turn off. He adjusted how he lounged on the bed, stretching out and propping himself on the bed so that his best assets were on display. Alastor might not be the most sexually-driven guy, but he had made it clear previously that he found Angel at least a bit attractive--he called him his “secret boyfriend” and offered to have sex with him just a little bit ago, that had to count for something, right? Angel was prepped and ready to go.

What Angel was  _ not _ prepped and ready for was Alastor walking out of the bathroom, completely nude, towel in his hands as he dried off that fluff of red and black locks. 

Alastor froze.

Angel froze.

Hell froze over.

Despite having been together for a few months already, albeit in secret, Angel had never seen Alastor naked; the Radio Demon had always either been in his suit or a satin pair of red-and-black striped pajamas that made him all smooth and slippery and soft to lay on. Now, Alastor had seen Angel nude--well, mostly. He’d asked once to see a bit of Angel’s work--god knows why--and so Angel had picked out some of his favorite clips and showed them to his companion. Angel had hoped that this was some sort of “I wanna get horny to you” sort of thing, but it just turned out to be a classic case of “innocent” Alastor curiosity. He hadn’t even popped a boner or anything. Angel remembered wondering, in that moment, if Alastor even  _ had _ a dick to get hard.

_ Well, he’s definitley got one _ , Angel said to himself, now staring directly at the thing. It wasn’t overly huge--not compared to the big-dick energy Alastor often exuded--but it was formidable in its own right. And Angel couldn’t help taking in the sight as much as he could in that moment, eyes wandering Alastor’s form before he could stop himself. The Radio Demon was lean, his gray skin smooth and untouched by scars or blemishes, but he wasn’t scrawny. In fact, Angel admiringly noticed, there was quite a bit of subtle muscle in the curvature of his arms and legs that his normal outfits didn’t expose. Angel found himself biting his bottom lip and sitting up a bit straighter before he could stop himself.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Alastor remarked, continuing his toweling off of his hair as he casually stepped over to the armoire. “Usually I’m out of the shower before you get here--must’ve lost track of time.”

Angel watched, flabbergasted as always at Alastor’s cool demeanor in these sorts of situations, eyes tracing the movement of Alastor’s body as he maneuvered around the room. He was looking at the curve of his shoulder blades, the dip in his lower back, his as-- 

“Oh my god.”

Alastor turned towards the other, a questioning look on his face. He followed Angel’s gaze to his backside, suddenly become conscious of just where Angel was looking.

“Don’t,” Alastor warned, pursing his smiling lips.

“Oh my  _ god _ .”

“ _ Don’t. _ ”

“Oh. My. God!”

“Angel, I’m serious now, don’t!”

It was too late. 

Angel was already right beside the Radio Demon, grinning ear-to-ear, so close he could feel the warmth from the shower radiating off the other demon. Alastor was grinning, but he was not happy, and yet Angel continued. He couldn’t help himself. If he was going to die tonight, it was going to be touching the guy he was crazy about.

Specifically, it was going to be touching the guy he was crazy about’s tail.

It was the same bright red with a black tip as Alastor’s hair and ears, and, as Angel realized when he ran his fingers over it, just as soft. It moved with Alastor as he walked, twitching in the same minute way that his ears did, though perhaps more skittishly. It was a deer’s tail, through and through, and Angel was losing his mind over it.

It wasn’t long before Alastor had snapped his fingers and black tentacles grabbed Angel, slamming him against a nearby wall, causing a painting of a black-clad barroom songstress to go tumbling to the ground. The force of the wall-slamming left Angel gasping for breath, but he was smiling despite his position and the pissed-off look on his companion’s face. Alastor bore a dial-eyed glare into the spider, smile hauntingly villainous at this point. He raised his hand, about to snap his fingers in what would probably have sent Angel catapulting into the deepest pits of Hell, but he stopped short. 

Angel was laughing.

Angel was laughing hard.

Angel was laughing so hard he was crying. 

And thank god for it, too. The sound jolted Alastor out of his rage, and he blinked away the radio dials from his eyes. 

“This isn’t funny,” Alastor said, and it was the closest Angel had ever seen the other come to pouting and,  _ fuck _ if it wasn’t one of the cutest things he’d ever seen. No, scratch that. As Angel’s eyes lingered across Alastor’s body he realized that the look and tone and overall asthetic was less cute and more alluring.

“What are you talking about? It’s fucking hilarious!” Angel responded, still laughing, even as he remained latched to the wall. “It’s also fucking adorable. Alastor the Radio Demon, destroyer of lives, danger in a three-piece suit, has a tail--a deer tail--a really fucking cute and soft deer tail.” 

And Angel erupted in laughter once more, tears streaming from his eyes. Then, after a moment, and seeing the way Alastor continued to look displeased, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just… a lot. A good a lot, though! Come on, let me down. Please?”

It looked as though Alastor contemplated, just briefly, keeping Angel trapped against the wall--oooh, another dirty fantasy to keep in the back of his mind for later--but soon enough Angel was released and back on two feet. He immediately moved over to Alastor, laughing against the other’s lips as he quickly kissed him. Alastor froze in his spot, letting the kiss happen despite what he perceived as a weird timing for it. When Angel pulled away, he wiped at the tears distorting his vision.

“Look, I’m sorry,” the spider said, tone a bit more controlled now as he grinned at the Radio Demon. “I shouldn’t have laughed at you and I definitely shouldn’t have touched your t-” he snickered again, but composed himself quickly, especailly as Alastor glared at him, “I shouldn’t have touched your tail when you didn’t want me to. I just didn’t realize that you were so self-conscious about it.”

“You did,” Alastor bluntly pointed out, “and I’m not.”

Angel grimaced at the bitterness eeking into Alastor’s tone. Shit, maybe he’d really fucked this up. Though, to be fair, Alastor was standing there, naked, allowing Angel not only to continue breathing, but also to wrap a set of arms around his neck and another around his waist, so he couldn’t have messed up  _ that _ bad. Still, Angel felt a swelling of real guilt start to rise up in him, making him feel a bit sick to his stomach.

“Alright, alright,” Angel sighed, his turn to pout as he glanced away from the other demon. “I’m sorry, really. I was being an asshole, I know that. I just got carried away--first you walk out all naked and hot and shit, which I was definitely not expecting, and then you turn around and I’m looking for your ass--great ass by the way--and  _ bam _ ! Tail! It was a bit of a dramatic moment for me.”

Angel tried to grin winningly at Alastor, to make him forgive him, but Alastor continued to look discontented. He wasn’t even, really, looking at Angel, his gaze more staring off grumpily over the spider’s shoulder. Angel tried to move to catch the Radio Demon’s gaze, but Alastor continued to avoid eye contact.

“Are you really  _ that _ self-conscious about it?” Angel questioned, brows raising incredulously. 

Alastor’s silence was all the answer he needed.

“Fuck,” Angel said, barking out a laugh, “how can you be so ridiculously terrifying and so ridiculously fucking cute all at the same time? Like, it’s got to be a sin just to even possess that sort of power.” 

After a long moment of silence, Alastor remarked, “I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever described me as ‘cute’.”

Angel snickered at the comment, managing finally to snag some direct eye contact with the other demon.

“Well, how many people have seen you get all embarrassed about something that isn’t even that big of a deal?”

“None,” Alastor replied, gaze and tone unamused. 

“Oh lighten up,” Angel said, bravely placing his hand over Alastor’s cheek. Damn, he liked being able to do this. “You’re like the hottest piece of ass down here.” Then, after a pause, “Well, besides me, of course.”

The joke was enough to break the tight-lipped bitterness in Alastor’s countenance and he visibly relaxed with a chuckle and a shake of his head. Angel felt himself relaxing as well, his muscles letting go of tension that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding up. Maybe his body was smarter than his brain was when it came to dangerous situations.

“There, that’s better,” Angel continued, sighing with relief. He took a step back, long arms still dangling around Alastor, and very blatantly and very suggestively eyed the other. “ _ Much _ better.”

Alastor rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers and suddenly becoming fully clothed in those familiar satin pajamas. Angel pouted at the change.

“No fair,” he remarked. “You can look at me naked anytime you want just by buying a video. I should be granted the same allowances.”

“I can see you naked anytime I want just by asking you to take off your clothes,” Alastor corrected, and Angel felt a shiver of pleasure run through him at the implications hanging off those words. “And are you implying you want me to videotape myself naked for you?”

Yeah, definitely shivers of pleasure.

“I would  _ definitely _ not be opposed to that,” Angel returned, sighing dreamily. “Though the real thing is always better than the pictures.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Alastor replied, mulling something over for a moment. “I suppose as long as you controlled yourself, I could sleep in the nude tonight. It  _ is _ a lot more comfortable.”

“Fuck yes. Can I touch your tail?”

“Absolutely not.”

“If you let me, I’ll let you touch my butt in return.”

“You’ll let me do that anyway.”

“Eh, touche.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I got comments about wanting some more sexy stuff on previous chapters, and I know the ending of this one might not be as ideally sultry as you perhaps wanted, but do not fear! I have plans in the works for a super saucy, gut-wrenching, spoonfuls-of-sexy chapter coming soon! You'll know it by the title, I promise.


	6. Alastor's Parents Were in Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for these little doofuses. I hope you enjoy another dip into the emotional side of their relationship! Let me know what you're liking, what you'd like to see more of, and what you think in general! I may not reply to every comment, but I read them all and they warm my heart, so thank you!

_ Alastor's parents were in Hell. _

Something was wrong.

Something was  _ very _ wrong.

Angel watched disappointedly as Alastor walked past him without saying a word for the fourth day in a row. Angel felt his anxiety gnawing at the very corners of his brain and his eyes longingly followed the Radio Demon's movements across the hotel lobby. Alastor looked agitated, his smile particularly inconsistent with the rest of his demeanor. He, of course, was still all put-together, no misplaced hair or loose button on his suit, but there was something in his movements, in his quietness, in the way he hadn't so much as hummed a tune for the past week, that was wrong.

"Hey, Angel?"

The demon in question jumped, hair standing on end from the surprise entrance of the princess of Hell herself. Turning to the blonde, trying to act casually, Angel ran his hands across his hair, making sure everything was in place. 

"Damn it Charlie, you gotta stop sneaking up on me like that," Angel quipped, nonchalantly side-eyeing the departing Radio Demon as he headed up a nearby staircase. "You're gonna give me a heart attack."

"Sorry," Charlie responded, and Angel noticed the way she was looking at him from the corner of his eye. She looked worried, fearful even, nervous. Those big eyes of hers were wider than normal and she rubbed her palms against her arms like she was trying to start a goddamn fire.

"What?" Angel prodded, leaning down to get at Charlie's height and eye her face-to-face. "Why the long face?"

Charlie pursed her lips and Angel caught her glance in the direction Alastor had disappeared towards.  _ Uh-oh _ .

"Well... you see... I was just wondering if you uhhhh knew anything about why Al's so down all of a sudden."

Charlie tried for an innocent, encouraging grin. Angel didn't buy it. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, accusatorily. 

"What do you know?" he aggressively whispered to her, his own bushel of nerves spiking in his stomach at the flustered look on the girl's face. If she knew about their whole secret romance thing and it got back to Alastor, Angel could just imagine the quick dumping that would ensue. Alastor didn't have connections--fuck, Alastor didn't have  _ emotions _ , not the positive kind--or, at least, that's what Alastor wanted his enemies to think. If it got out that he was fooling around with someone like Angel, who knows what he'd do. 

"W-What do you mean?" Charlie tried, fumbling over her words as she, too, tried to whisper through her flustered disposition. "I just, you know, noticed that you two were... growing closer, and I figured you might know why he was being all moody lately."

The girl tried for a positive, innocent smile, but it came off looking like she was about to piss herself. She knew. Oh, fuck, did she know. Without replying Angel's instincts kicked in and he grabbed Charlie by the hand, dragging her out of the lobby, down a few hallways, through the kitchen, and out the back door into the alley behind the hotel. Once there, he spun on the demon heiress, intense aura alone pinning her to the alleyway wall.

"You cannot say a  _ word _ about this, ya got it?" Angel said to her, voice low, trying to ignore the quiver that marked his words. "If someone finds out about  _ anything _ \--"

"I won't, I promise!" Charlie interrupted, holding her hands up in surrender. She looked desperate, pleading, but there was a spark of that classic Charlie excitement that Angel spotted just below the surface.  _ Oh hell _ . She continued hurriedly, "It's none of my business what you and Al get up to in your free time--as long as it makes you two happy, I don't mind at all! And, honestly, I think it's a really good thing! I've noticed Al being a lot more friendly than normal. Like, actually friendly, not just his fake, scary friendly thing he does." 

Angel thought about interrupting her, telling her to shut up in case anyone overheard them, but her words were like sugary cocaine to his ears, prodding that dreadfully traitorous, ever-growing affection he'd been developing for the Radio Demon into overdrive. Even the  _ thought _ of Alastor being changed by Angel, being influenced by him, in a  _ positive _ way was enough to get the spider's insides all in a twist, even if he couldn't tell if Charlie was just saying the nice things to appease him and keep him from murdering her in a back alley.

"And I've definitely noticed him be a lot less negative about the hotel and all of its business," Charlie continued, turning a bit dreamy-eyed. "Like, maybe he's actually starting to believe in redemption a bit or something."

Angel barked out a laugh before he could stop himself, quickly covering his mouth when he saw the disappointed look on Charlie's face. He recalled the numerous conversations Alastor and he had had, late in the evening, when Angel would sneak into the other's room, about redemption and the possibility of being saved and going to Heaven. Neither was a big believer in the supposed results of Charlie's little experiment, Alastor even more so than the sex-crazed, drug-addicted spider, but Angel always hated disappointing Charlie. She may have had the tendency to be a bit overbearing with the cuteness and Disney-princess-esque levels of energy and joy, but she was nice to him--had been one of the first people in a long time to be  _ really _ nice to him--and he didn't take that very lightly, even if he would never admit to it.

"Anyway," Charlie grumbled, moving past the redemption moment, "something's clearly been up lately with Al. He's gone most of the time, he barely talks when he  _ is  _ here, and I can't even remember the last time I heard him singing or humming something while he did his rounds."

"Yeah, I know what ya mean," Angel sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair. "He's been all sorts of fritzy lately. Hasn't even spoken to me in, like, fucking days!"

Charlie's brows furrowed in concern as she pinched her chin, contemplating. 

"So you don't know what's going on?" she questioned.

"Nope, not a god damn clue," Angel replied, dejectedly kicking a pebble at the alley wall. He tried not to let all of his frustration at the scenario seep out, but he couldn't control the way he slouched, the way his default was to frown and stare off into space, the way he perked up at every sharp sound of a footstep coming in his direction, only to become dispirited when he spotted the walker and realized they weren't the bespectacled deer demon.

"Damn," Charlie cursed, and Angel had to stop from snickering, the sound of the girl cussing a rare experience. "Well what did he tell you when you asked him about it?"

Angel stared blankly at Charlie, blinking a few times.

"What do ya mean?"

Charlie paused, her turn to stare, to blink in confusion.

"When you... asked him... about what was wrong," Charlie tried. Then, seeing the continuation of the blank stare. "You... You _did_ ask him what was up, right?"

"Why would I do that?"

Angel felt suddenly extremely self-conscious. Charlie was looking at him like he was an idiot and he didn't quite understand why. If Alastor didn't want to talk to him, why would he try to push himself on the guy? I mean, sure, Angel _constantly_ wanted to push himself on Alastor, but he would be lying if he wasn't afraid of (a) scaring the guy off and (b) getting chopped into bits and probably devoured. Angel was sure he was making _some_ headway with Alastor, but he had very little confidence in his ability to question the guy outright, especially when he was pissed, and live to tell the tale. 

"Angel," Charlie sighed, exasperated, palming her forehead. "You seriously didn't even think to ask him what was wrong?"

"Well, like you said, he's been gone a lot," Angel tried, "and he hasn't even been saying 'hi' or nothing when he sees me!"

"But he's your _boyfriend_," Charlie responded, throwing her hands in the air. "You're supposed to talk to him and make sure he's alright and try to make him feel better if he's not!"

Angel stared again. He blinked again. He felt the blood rushing to his face as he pursed his lips, embarrassed. How the hell was he supposed to know how to handle a boyfriend? He'd never had one before! And, besides, they were _secret_ boyfriends. That meant that things were supposed to be handled differently... right?

"Well, maybe we're not _like_ normal boyfriends," Angel retorted, arms crossed, refusing to look at Charlie, pouting even as he felt a flutter of excitement at having a conversation all about Alastor being his boyfriend. "Maybe we do things differently!"

Charlie frowned.

"Then what do you plan on doing about Alastor's mood? Ignoring it?"

Angel frowned, furrowed his brows, gripped his arms a bit tighter. Of course he didn't want to ignore it, he didn't want to ignore Alastor, he wanted to help. He wanted Alastor to go back to acting normal, to letting Angel swoon over him, to laughing at his dumb antics. He wanted to fall asleep to Alastor humming some stupid jazz tune he didn't recognize, and he wanted to be able to eat together and a laugh together and tease each other and sleep together and all sorts of other things again. It had only been a few days of this whole thing, but Angel felt like he was having withdrawal symptoms.

Charlie, seeing the conflicted look on Angel's face, softened her posture, smiling sadly at her friend. 

"Do you really like him?"

Embarrassed, Angel glanced up at the hotel, as if Alastor would appear right there. He frowned for a moment, contemplating, thinking about his relationship with the Radio Demon, about his feelings for him. Finally, after a long moment, he sighed, closing his eyes.

"Yeah, I do," he murmured defeatedly. He opened his eyes when he felt Charlie's hand on his forearm. She was looking at him with a big fanged smile on her face, beaming up at him.

"Then go talk to him, silly," she said, squeezing her grip on his arm. "You're _the_ Angel Dust--you always say what's on your mind, right? So go tell him what's on your mind and make him tell you what's on his!"

Angel wondered if Charlie knew just how dangerous of a job she'd just suggested to him, how tentative and fragile his position was at the moment. He glanced back up at the hotel, swallowing, nervous, but felt a bit of a surge of confidence when Charlie squeezed his arm again. The faintest ghost of a smile flitted across his features. _Damn, this girl's energy really is contagious, _he thought to himself.

"Fine!" he said, throwing up his arms in mock exasperation. He stalked towards the door back into the hotel, pausing right before pulling it open and glancing back at Charlie. She was beaming, smile as wide and toothy as Alastor's usually was, her cheeks pink with excitement. Angel rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smiling a bit in return. He warned, "Remember, don't you dare say anything about this to anyone," before slipping through the door and back into the hotel. 

Once inside, Angel headed off before he could convince himself not to, marching back to the lobby and throwing his hand down on bar top so hard that Husk nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping and shattering the rocks glass he'd been cleaning.

"What the fuck, Angel?" the cat demon shouted, animatedly brandishing towards the broken glass at his feet. 

"Where's the strawberry pimp?" Angel responded, squinting accusatorily at the other, as if he had him hidden behind the bar. 

"W-What?" Husk spat out, arms now thrown up in annoyance. "How the fuck should I know? You were literally standing right here when he walked in last--you know everything I know!"

Angel paused , mulling that over, realizing he'd gotten a little overzealous. He nodded, coolly backing away from the bar and crossing his arms, sauntering away in the direction Alastor had gone in an attempt to cover his blunder. Husk just stared after him, dumbfounded, searching the faces of the patrons sitting at the bar in an attempt to understand what had just happened. Their blank stares offered no answers. 

Unfazed by the event, Angel stalked off after Alastor, climbing the same staircase and listening carefully in case he heard any radio static or the like. Nothing. And so he continued on, heading first to Alastor's room. Nothing. Next was the theater. Nothing. The kitchen. Nothing. Angel's room. Nothing, the Fat Nuggets gave him an excited nuzzle upon entry that refueled Angel's determined fire. The garden. Nothing. The lobby again. Nothing. The staff meeting room Charlie had thought a necessity. Nothing.

Finally, though, Angel heard it--the crackling of static.

He spun around, spotting the staircase to the roof, staring at it, puzzled. Why the hell would Alastor be up on the roof? Tentatively, Angel walked up the steps to the doorway, pressing his ear to the metal. Yeah, definitely radio static. And something else--voices? Angel couldn't make them out, so he didn't bother trying, instead just throwing the door open and stepping through, fighting the gut-wrenching crackle of nerves filling his stomach.

Angel stepped out just in time to spot some poor little imp go flying halfway across the city, propelled by Alastor's black tentacles. The spider shut the door to the roof as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the moment, but realized quickly that _that_ wasn't going to happen as Alastor turned dialed-up eyes to him. His smile was haunting, terrifying, and the translucent symbols floating around the Radio Demon were not a good sign. 

"Uh, hey," Angel said, waving dumbly, ignoring the terror rising to his throat. He glanced in the direction the demon had been flung. "Friend of yours?" 

"Not quite," Alastor replied, and it was the first thing Angel had heard him say in quite a while and, even though it wasn't romantic or sweet or anything remotely close to that, Angel felt himself swoon a bit. It helped that Alastor began to dial back the angry intensity a bit, his eyes going back to normal, symbols disappearing, tentacles returning through the portal from whence they'd come. But just as Angel was beginning to feel his confidence returning, Alastor turned his back on him and said simply, "I'd rather be alone right now, if it's all the same to you."

Angel deflated, staring longingly at Alastor's back, feeling his gut drop. 

"Y-Yeah, sure..." he muttered, turning towards the door. He stopped, however, when his hand was on the handle, and stared at it hard. He remembered was Charlie has said, about boyfriends and his stubbornness and all that, and before he could stop himself, he had spun back around to Alastor, crossing his arms and stalking a few steps closer. "Actually, no," he said, and on of Alastor's ears twitched. "No, I'm not gonna just leave. Something's wrong with you--what is it?"

Silence. Oh, deafening, suffocating silence. Angel swallowed slowly, breathing heavier than he had expected. Damn nerves. Wasn't there a saying about how spiders were more scared of you than you were of them? Yeah, Angel definitely understood that in this moment, staring at the still back of this powerful, terrifying, murderous being he had just said "no" to. He briefly wondered if anyone had ever really told Alastor no and lived to tell the tale--probably not. 

The silence dragged on for what felt like a century before Alastor finally replied. He didn't move, didn't turn to look at Angel, didn't even breathe, really. 

"Go away Angel."

There wasn't any radio flare to Alastor's words, no background music or accompanying static. Just Alastor's voice. Just Alastor's words, which struck Angel in the chest like a knife. He felt like crying--_fuck, _he felt like screaming--and for a moment he considered doing what Alastor had instructed, just leaving, but the thought didn't last long. Something was wrong. Something was _very _wrong. And Angel was going to figure out what the hell was happening to his Radio Demon or die trying.

"I said no," Angel responded, taking another few steps towards Alastor, a braver move than he thought himself capable. This close, he was able to see the slight shaking of Alastor's shoulders, the faint twitching of his ears, the quivering of the clenched fists at his side. "I want to help. Tell me--"

"_WHY?_" 

Angel almost fell from the surprise of the shout, Alastor's voice crackling. The Radio Demon quickly turned to face the spider, glaring at him. He wasn't smiling. Oh fuck, he wasn't smiling. He was frowning. Oh _fuck_, he was frowning. Another moment of panic, of fear, but that face, that frown, the way Alastor was clearly upset but hadn't gone all dial-eyed or chaotic evil--Angel took it as a good sign.

"B-Because I'm worried about you," Angel replied, forcing himself to look at Alastor, to ignore the way his antlers had grown, the way angry heat radiated off of him, the way he looked at Angel like he was nothing but a nuisance. "I've barely seen you in a week and when I do see ya, you completely ignore me, and--"

"So you just want my attention again," Alastor spat back, interrupting Angel's explaining. "Well I apologize that you're not my priority right now."

Angel felt anger rising up in him now as Alastor misunderstood.

"No, you fucking idiot!" Angel shot back, throwing his arms up in rage. "I don't give a shit about being your 'priority' or whatever! I mean, at least not right now! You're not being Al anymore! You walk around the fucking hotel like a goddamn corpse, you don't joke, you don't sing--nothing! And I fucking hate it, because then I spend all my time just sitting around worrying about you because, woah, big fucking news, I actually give a shit about you! A _lot_ of shit about you! I wanna go back to what we were doing, to meeting up late at night and sneaking off to that club to see Annie perform and to cooking together even though I suck at it and you're like a fucking master and to just sitting on your bed and drinking and talking until I pass out because I'm way more of a lightweight than you. But I can't even start to fucking convince you to go back to that until you tell me what's wrong and let me help you fix it. I like you. I like this. I like _us_, and I want to be a good boyfriend--secret boyfriend, fucking _whatever_ you want me to be--and I want to _help_ you, but before I can do that, you gotta tell me what the fuck is wrong."

Angel was breathing heavily, shaking a bit with the force of his ranting, all fists clenched, eyes drilling holes into the Alastor. Alastor, in turn, stared at Angel with an unreadable expression. He wasn't frowning anymore, but he wasn't smiling either. For a long moment the only sound on the rooftop was Angel breathing until Alastor finally spoke, his voice quiet, soft.

"Tomorrow's my mother's birthday."

Immediately, Angel understood. He unclenched his fists, hard glare turning into wide-eyed understanding. Alastor didn't talk about his mother--hell, Alastor didn't talk about his life on Earth really at all--but Angel knew she was important. Anything good he'd ever heard about Alastor's life was his mother, how she sang songs when she cleaned, how she taught him to cook, how she'd been "the most stunning bayou beauty Louisiana had ever seen."

"Oh," Angel breathed out quietly. Alastor wasn't looking at him anymore, his eyes cast off to the side, staring at something that wasn't there. His hands were shaking again. 

"It's always been a tough time of year for me," Alastor continued. "I tend to... lose control of my emotions a bit more than usual. It was worse when I was alive, after she died--I hardly left home, could barely broadcast--but even now it's difficult."

Angel watched the struggled expression on Alastor's face. It was something he'd never seen before on the demon's face--true turmoil, like he was struggling with a million different things at once. No, wait, he had seen it before, when Alastor slept. He bore the same pained expression as when he slumbered. Tentatively, slowly, Angel reached out and took on of Alastor's hands in his own.

"Tell me about her," he said, gently squeezing Alastor's gloved digits. 

Alastor's gaze fell on Angel again, brows raising in surprise and question, and Angel wondered, briefly, if he'd overstepped a boundary, if he should have stopped when he was ahead and Alastor had shared with him. But then Alastor began to speak, to talk about his mother, and as he went on his voice became softer, happier, reminiscent.

Her name was Abigail and she was born and raised by wealthy French parents in a southside neighborhood of New Orleans, her accent thick and charming. She'd wanted to be a singer her whole life, a performer. She had taught her son to play most of the brass instruments available to them and she would have him play while she cooked so she could dance around their kitchen prepping meals she'd inherited from her mother and her mother's mother. She had thick auburn hair, wavy, that she wore most often in a low, loose bun, and eyes the color of chocolate bars, both of which Alastor had proudly inherited. She'd been the one to instigate Alastor's love of radio, always having the thing on and tuned to her favorite personalities throughout the day as she went about her chores. She was funny, but quietly sophisticated, able to balance life in the rip-roaring streets of fast-paced New Orleans and small-town USA in equal measure. She liked vibrantly-colored dresses with ruffles, her favorite being one the color of coral, long-sleeved, with a tiered ruffle skirt that cascaded from a cream sash and cut off at her knees. It was gorgeous, Alastor explained, and she looked like some sort of flower when she wore it around the house or to town for groceries. 

"She was such a happy person," Alastor explained. They were sitting beside one another now, leaning back against the brick ledge of the roof, and Alastor leaned his head back against it, closing his eyes, smiling softly.

Angel, in awe, had watched the other obsessively while he spoke and he didn't stop now, eyes strolling across the calmed features on his companion. Their fingers were still intertwined and Angel felt Alastor's thumb gently caressing his palm while he reminisced, a subtle but goosebump-generating touch. 

"So what happened to her?" Angel posed, quietly, knowing the story didn't have a happy ending.

Alastor opened his eyes, just slightly, and stared ahead of them. He sighed, sadly, smiling in a similar fashion.

"My father," Alastor explained. "A beast of a man, a hunter. He had come to New Orleans to get away from some bad business back on the coast and clear his head by opening a butchery. He met her at some festival the city was putting on. He was tall and broad and handsome and I guess she liked that about him, liked that he was strong enough to protect her. They danced, they dined, they married. And they had me and everything was fine and dandy..."

When Alastor's words trailed off, Angel prodded, "And then?" and squeezed the other's hand encouragingly.

Alastor turned to his companion, contemplative. Finally, silently, he pulled his hand away from Angel's, who reluctantly released it, only to set both of his palms over Angel's ears. Angel felt his face heating up as Alastor rubbed his thumb gently against his temple. 

"Close your eyes," Alastor instructed, and Angel did, immediately. 

Angel didn't know all of Alastor's powers, no one did, but he didn't expect this one. First, silence engulfed the spider, deafening silence, and then something began to emerge, a cacophonous melody of voices and sounds. The clink of empty bottles, a man drunkenly rambling about killing some deer, breaking glass, a woman crying and begging someone to leave "Al" alone, a slap, shouting, the breaking of wood, the thump of something hard hitting something soft, the sounds of sex paired with someone's quiet whimpers, more glass breaking, crying, sobbing. _"Al, sweetie, I'm so sorry. I just... I just can't anymore, you know? It's just too much. I love you so much, darling. You're such a good, sweet boy. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you so much Al, no matter what, okay?"_ More beatings, the snap of a belt, screams of pain, furniture grinding against wooden floorboards, crying, sobbing, over and over again. Someone walking through wet grass, a small gasp followed by a choked sob. _"Mama, Mama no! Please, Mama, no!"_ An aggravated shout, something hitting a tree, a cry of pain, someone slumping down to the ground, quiet and persistent sobs. _"What the fuck are you doing?"_ A slap, a kick, more kicks. _"You just gonna sit there and let her swing? Not gonna fucking tell anyone what happened, you little fucking twerp! You don't deserve to fucking cry over her, you fucking loser!"_ More kicking, whimpering, sobbing, a gunshot, the snapping of a rope, the _thump_ of a body hitting the ground. And then nothing.

Angel opened his eyes and realized he was crying, hyperventilating a bit. He looked at Alastor and tried to catch his breath, his hand coming up and gripping one the Radio Demons that pressed against his face. Alastor looked sad. God, he looked so sad. 

"Al..." he breathed out, his voice cracking.

Alastor moved, pulling Angel's head to him, resting his chin in the spider's hair. Angel stared at Alastor's chest of buttons, felt the Radio Demon's grip loosen on one side of his head and then return on one of the hands in his lap. He listened to Alastor's shaky breathing for a moment, felt him shivering ever so slightly against him. 

"I was seven when he first touched her like that," Alastor said, voice quiet, trembling slightly. Angel listened intently, closing his eyes and leaning into Alastor more. "It took her eight years to finally give up, to be broken. It was right after I got my job at the station. I think she thought I had an out, something I could escape to, so she didn't have to try to protect me anymore. I sat under her body for hours, sobbing, before my father got home and found us in the backyard."

Without moving, Angel spoke.

"What happened to your dad?"

Silence. Brief, but poignant. 

"He disappeared in the swamps."

Alastor's tone was hard, threatening, terrifying, and Angel felt a chill run down his spine. There was more there, Angel knew, but he wouldn't ask about it, didn't want to know, didn't need to know. 

More silence followed, filling the space between them, and the two demons just sat there, holding each other. Angel felt like crying more, but he stopped himself, shut down his tears, clung to Alastor like he was the one that had been dealing with these memories for almost a century. Alastor didn't move away, just sat there curled around Angel, one hand holding his face, the other his hand, his own cheek resting in the soft fluff of Angel's hair. 

"I sought him out when I got down here," Alastor finally spoke, voice matter-of-fact, hollow. "I knew he'd be here. I found him and I buried him. I didn't want him to get the opportunity for an afterlife."

Angel nodded and squeezed Alastor's hand gently, the only thing he could think to do.

"I found my mother a few years ago."

Angel pulled back, eyes wide.

"Down here?"

"Yeah," Alastor replied, eyes hooded, smile small, forlorn. "I guess choosing to run away from your horrible life doesn't get you into Heaven."

"And Charlie thinks _we_ can get in," Angel bitterly murmured. "Did... Did ya ever talk to her?" 

"No," Alastor said, looking almost embarrassed. "I've never spoken to her, never even really been near her except that first time. She runs a small little diner on the outskirts of the city and I watched her cooking behind the counter. I couldn't bring myself to approach her. I don't think she'd approve, not of how I lived my life or how I run my afterlife. 

"You should," Angel posed, and he bravely set a hand against Alastor's cheek, mirroring their positions. He cradled it gently, like Alastor was something fragile, and tried to smile encouragingly. "You're a mama's boy--you should be with your mama. I think she'd be happy to see you."

Alastor stared at him for a long moment, expression unreadable again, but he leaned into Angel's touch, sending flutters of pleasure through the spider's body. 

"Would you come with me?" Alastor asked, and it sounded more like a hypothetical than a plan, but it still made Angel ache with affection. 

"Yeah, I'd really like that," he breathed out before even thinking about it. Alastor smirked at his companion, the grin making Angel's heart ache more painfully.

"You're cute when you're lovestruck," Alastor teased and before Angel's embarrassment could manifest in some stumbled response, their lips were pressed together and all thoughts receded to the background, Angel melting against the other. They kissed pretty often, but it usually was Angel kissing Alastor and the latter just going along with it. This, though, this was an Alastor kiss, a taste of affection Angel wasn't often allowed to savor. When they pulled back, Alastor was smiling, gently, softly, dare Angel say, lovingly. "Thank you."

Angel barely managed to get out an "Anytime" before Alastor was kissing him again, grinning against his lips, laughing into the kiss as Angel squirmed excitedly, all hands grabbing at the Radio Demon like a lifeline as he suffocated in the affection. 


	7. Alastor's Favorite Food was Apple Pie with Cheddar Cheese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy-o, I feel like I'm gonna get some intense comments from this one~ 
> 
> Oh well, it was a fun one to write. Please let me know what you think! Your comments have all been so lovely and supportive and just heart-warming all around--they make me so giddy, and I really sincerely appreciate the kindness. 
> 
> Here is a reference for a certain someone's outfit [please ignore the horrendous head and face--my drawing stylus broke so I was forced to make the concept drawing with my finger on my tablet and finer details were just NOT gonna happen haha]: https://i.imgur.com/LiBrKtW.png
> 
> I hope you enjoy the piece!

_Alastor's favorite food was apple pie with cheddar cheese._

God, she looked like Alastor. For fuck's sake, she was even a deer demon, too. Though, honestly, that shouldn't have surprised Angel much. After all, his whole family was spider demons--wasn't much of a stretch to assume it was a familial thing. But did she _have_ to have the same ears with the same black tips, the same pale skin, the same smile?

Angel hadn't lasted long after finding out about Alastor's mother. In fact, he'd had the itch to go running to find her basically right after Alastor had told him about her. Abigail was her name, Abigail the Radio Mama.

She was beautiful, even in death. Her hair, dark maroon with a strip of black, was pulled into the same low, loose bun Alastor had described. She had a dress on the color of her hair, dark red, with long puffy sleeves that cinched at her wrist, an antique red broach at her chest, and a cascade of white ruffles from the V of her neckline to the black-belted, tight waistline. The skirt of the dress was mostly covered by the large white apron she wore, but Angel was able to make out the layers, maroon accentuated by black trim.

He stood outside of the diner--her diner-- and watched her move from table to table, black lips spread into a welcoming grin, hair just slightly unraveling, doe ears twitching in the same way Al's did. The diner wasn't particular busy, just a few small-timers drinking a cup of Joe or munching on some breakfast treats, but they seemed to be regulars by the way they smiled and chatted with Abigail, occasionally breaking out in uproarious laughter at some quip she shot their way. 

Angel shouldn't have been nervous--she wouldn't know who he was or anything. She would have no way of knowing that he knew Al. Hell, did she even realize who Alastor _was_? Probably not. Oh fuck, what if he spilled the beans? No, how the hell would that even come up? _"Hey there, you know your son? Well he's fucking dead and is one of the most powerful demons in hell now and I'm his secret boyfriend--nice to meet you!"_ Yeah, no fucking way. Damn, maybe he shouldn't have come in the first place. Alastor would fucking kill him if he knew he was there, let alone planning on going in and _talking _to her. Honestly, he shouldn't have been there. Definitely not. But this woman--this demon--meant so _much_ to Alastor, was someone he cared about, cherished, probably secretly, from-the-shadows, protected on a regular basis. _Ooooh, like Batman if his mom was still alive--or, well, dead._ No, Angel definitely wasn't supposed to be there. This was stupid. He was leaving, and he wouldn't breathe a goddamn word of this to anyone, least of all Al. No, he was heading home right awa--

"You gonna stand out there all day, honey, or are you gonna come in?"

_Fuck_.

Angel stared, wide-eyed, at the woman peaking out of the diner doorway, one hand on her hip, the other ushering towards the innards of the restaurant. She smiled devilishly at Angel, a familiar grin, one he'd seen on Alastor's face whenever he'd come up with some sort of trick or tease to play on the spider demon. God, she looked just like him.

"Oh! Uh... yeah, yeah sure..." Angel muttered quickly, scampering into the diner before his senses could tell him not to.

He felt the warmth of the place engulf him, the sweet smells of fresh pie wafting through the air and blending pleasantly with the smooth saxophone notes floating from the jukebox in the corner. There was a quiet murmur from the few guests inside, and Angel could hear the sound of someone washing dishes in the backroom, but otherwise it felt like he had walked into a dream, devoid of others. The smell was divine, the aesthetic familiar, the sounds comforting. This was an Alastor place, through and through.

"You're still just standin' there," Abigail teased, chuckling, as she sidled over to the counter.

She patted one of the bar stools before slipping behind the counter and plopping some pieces of bacon on the grill. They sizzled in protest and Angel felt suddenly famished. He hopped over, plopping himself down on the stool, and watched Abigail like a hawk as she moved between the kitchen appliances. Occasionally she would sway her hips just a bit more than necessary, hitting the beat with the music, and for a moment Angel imagined a little mini Alastor sitting in the corner playing the sax, a personal jukebox for his mama.

"So what brings a big shot like you to someplace like this?" Abigail questioned, shooting Angel a curious glance over her shoulder. Her accent was think, southern, with a french lilt to it, born-and-raised-Louisiana style.

"Oh, you know," Angel said, trying to act casual, "just had a guy recommend this place to me." A pause. "Wait, you know who I am?"

"Sweetie, you've been on billboards and the news plenty of times," Abigail returned, her laughter light and airy, like it wasn't really a laugh but a cloud escaping her mouth. "I may be old fashioned, but I'm not stupid--I know a celebrity when they come walkin' past my door. And on a recommendation from a fan no less. Who would that happen to be?"

_Fucking fuck_.

"Oh, uh, you probably wouldn't know him!" 

Abigail turned to him, one hand on her hip, the other holding a spatula up. Her brows were furrowed, confused, and her nose squinched up a bit with the expression.

"I wouldn't know the person who recommended my diner?" she asked with a cautious chuckle. "I know it smells good--and trust me it tastes even better--but my food doesn't bring in _that_ many customers, I promise you that. I guarantee I'd know 'im. Just describe him--I'm good with remembering faces more than names." And she jokingly gestured the spatula towards her head.

Angel swallowed, panicking. Why the hell did he do this, stick his nose into places it wasn't supposed to go? He fumbled around, sweating for a moment, trying to think of someone to pin the recommendation on.

"It's a guy named Husk," Angel finally blurted out, immediately regretting bringing the guy into this. "He's--uh--a cat demon, big eyebrows, usually wearing a hat, big red wings and tail, long claws, brooding expression."

Abigail furrowed her brows in contemplation, her ears twitching as she rifled through her mental catalog. She instinctively removed the finished bacon from the grill and put it on a plate as she thought over the description.

"Well," she finally said, grabbing up the plate and strolling past Angel as she brought it to a nearby table, "you were right--can't say I can place him." She paused on her way back behind the counter, grinning at Angel with playful suspicion. "Is he one of your _professional _friends?"

Angel blanched, mouth falling open a bit. Was the mother of the guy he was in lo-- he really really liked asking him about his sex job? That made him uncomfortable. That made him _very_ uncomfortable. 

"N-No, definitely not!" Angel retorted, throwing up two pairs of hands in protest. "Husk? Gross--no way. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't know what to do with himself in that kinda situation. No, he works at the hotel."

"Hotel?"

_God fucking damn it Angel._

"Y-Yeah," Angel replied, "a hotel. Nothing special. Now, uh, you said you've got good food, right?"

Thankfully, Abigail seemed easily distracted by talk of her offerings and she quickly bustled over to a stack of menus after a little yelp. Menu in hand, she headed back over and presented it to Angel in a flourishing, theatrical way, like it was some sort of fancy invitation. 

"Please, peruse to your heart's content," she said, smile wide, the smile of a waitress speaking to a customer. Still, it was comforting even in its lack of sincerity.

"Nah, no need," Angel said, not wanting to stay long, "just give me whatever's best. I'll eat anything."

The look on Abigail's face almost made Angel's heart stop. That mischievous grin, the slight squinting of the eyes, the upturned chin--it was all Alastor. She was different obviously, enough that you probably wouldn't notice the similarities if you weren't looking for them, but Angel had become an expert at memorizing Alastor's expressions and he was being confronted by so many of them already and he'd only been in the diner for a few minutes.

"Perfect," Abigail said, snatching the menu right back and spinning away from Angel, towards a large display window of baked goods. "The house special it is!"

Angel watched curiously as she bent down, pushing back the glass pane and cutting off a piece of one of the treats.

"Do you often go to hotels?" Abigail called out as she fiddled with whatever baked good she was grabbing him.

"Huh?" Angel shot back.

"Hotels," she explained, standing up straight, a plate with a slice of pie on it in her hands. "You said your Husk friend worked at a hotel, right? Do you go to hotels often enough to make friends there?"

"Oh, no--I mean, sorta. I live in a hotel," Angel explained, careful not to unwittingly give anything away.

Abigail stopped halfway to the oven, brows furrowing once again, before an a-ha moment hit her. "Oh yeah, you're a part of that Happy Hotel business, right? Isn't that what the princess called it?"

"Charlie," Angel corrected her, realizing that he was getting in to deep, "and yeah, though it's been changed to the Hazbin Hotel."

"Well, I think it's a lovely idea," Abigail continued without missing a beat, "the idea of redeeming demons. I've always thought you could redeem anyone, no matter how bad."

Angel heard the very faint falter in her voice as she spoke the last lines, and memories flooded back of the sounds Alastor had made him listen to, the sounds of his life, of Abigail, of her torment. Angel felt suddenly very unsure of himself, more so than ever. He felt a bit icky, like he was cheating, like he wasn't supposed to be here, like it was wrong. He knew so much about this woman, knew her life, her pain, her death--it felt wrong to sit there and chat with her like all of that was nothing.

"You really think that?"

"I do," she replied, softly, and Angel saw the way she gently caressed the vintage broach at her breast, the way she smiled so sweetly, so sadly. "I mean, everyone's gotta have _some_ good in them, right? We were all humans once, so that means we just gotta."

Angel stared at the woman, heart aching. His mind wandered to Alastor, wishing he was there to hear his mother's words. If he knew her thoughts on redemption, knew that she could still think he was good even after what he did, even if he didn't believe in it himself, maybe he'd be willing to see her, to _talk_ to her.

Abigail pulled herself out of the moment, shaking off the forlorn visage and putting on a smile. _Ah, so it's a family trait_. She turned to the oven and plopped the plate of pie in it, though not before putting a slice of cheddar cheese on top of it. When she turned and caught Angel's aghast expression she chuckled and closed the oven door, trapping the pre-heated warmth inside.

"Lady, what the hell was that?"

"Abigail," she corrected, wiping her hands on her apron and moving to grab a pot of newly-brewed coffee. She went and refilled some patrons cups before returning to Angel and pouring the two of them mugs as well, "and _that_ was the house special--or it will be once it warms up a bit. Gotta get it at the perfect temperature."

"_That_ was a slice of _cheese_ on top of a piece of _pie_," Angel replied, staring at her like she was crazy. He picked up his cup of coffee, briefly wishing he had some Irish creme to add in, and added, "and _that's_ disgusting."

"Oh pooey," Abigail replied, laughing and waving off Angel's concerns. "Just wait 'til you try it."

Angel frowned, but reluctantly didn't protest any longer, instead taking a sip of his coffee. Abigail did the same, elbows resting on the countertop as her bright gaze surveyed the room. She looked like she belonged in this setting, like she was made to be sitting in a little vintage diner surrounded by sweet smells and smooth jazz. 

"Have you always had this place?" Angel asked.

"Nah," Abigail replied, smile wistful. "When I first got down here, I was as lost as a deer in headlights" She motioned to her ears. "Probably why I ended up with these--Hell knew what kind of woman I was. I stumbled around for years, pitying myself, hating myself..." she faded off for a moment, eyes glazing over. "But then I realized that this was my chance to do all the things I always wanted to do. So I went and sang for a while, just like I'd always wanted, and I got a waitressing job here so I could have some money to actually do something with my afterlife. I worked for a guy named Worcester for the longest time, but sometime in the 40s he got purged, and so I took over. Been doing this full time ever since." 

She turned away, setting her coffee down, and began to pull the pie concoction out of the oven.

"You still sing?" Angel posed.

"Nah, not like I used to, just on my own now," she replied before setting down the house special in front of the spider demon. "Bon appetite!"

Angel stared at the cheese-pie with an overly suspicious gaze, like it was poison or something. The cheese had melted on top of the pie, steam radiating off of it, and he could smell the mixture of sweet apple and cheddar floating through the air. He contemplated not eating it, but Abigail was watching him intently, determined, expectant, and Angel felt a sudden urge not to disappoint her.

"Alright, here goes nothin'," he said before digging in. 

The first bite was... surprisingly not bad. In fact, the two flavors mixed pretty decently together, the sweet and the savory complimenting each other remarkably well. The pie was clearly homemade and tasted like a slice of heaven all by itself, but Angel found himself appreciating the combo piece as well.

"Well?" Abigail goaded, grin challenging. 

"It's... pretty good," Angel relented and went for a second bite. "I've never even heard of this before--how'd you come up with it?"

"It was my son's favorite," she explained and Angel felt his stomach do a flip. He looked at her, wide-eyed. 

"Your son?" he questioned, quietly, as if Alastor could hear them. 

"Yeah, my sweet little Al," Abigail said, again gently caressing the broach on her dress. "He was the sweetest little thing, and homemade apple pie with a slice of cheddar cheese melted on top was his favorite food of all time. I'd make it for him when his father was out on a hunting trip. It was our little secret, sweet treat."

Angel watched as her hand moved from her broach to her neck, rubbing it as if she felt something there, and he felt the weight of his knowledge hanging over him like a tidal wave, ready to crash down any moment and wash him away. He saw the pained look in her eyes and felt his heart breaking with hers.

"Do you know where he is?" Angel asked, quieter still. The words hung in the air for a long moment.

"No," Abigail replied, smile wavering. "No I don't."

The silence hung between them like icicles dangling from a precipice, daunting, ominous. It sent a chill down Angel's spine and he quickly set his fork down without taking his second bite.

"I-I'm sorry, but I need to go," he said, pushing back from the counter and standing. He pulled out a few bills and dropped them on the table, trying to ignore the surprised look on Abigail's face. "T-Thank you for the pie--it was really good. I'm sorry I can't finish it, but--uh--yeah, thanks."

And he turned and he hurried to the door, wanting to escape what was now feeling like a suffocatingly small container. He felt so guilty, so conflicted--he never should have fucking come here. He should have stayed in his goddamn lane and not rocked the boat.

"Mr. Angel, wait!"

Angel stopped with his hand on the door handle, staring out through the front window at the open street, the rolling city beyond. Abigail was standing right behind him, holding out something in his direction. He turned, glancing over at her, and spotted a wad of money.

"Your change," she explained, clearly concerned, but trying to hide it. "As much as I'd love a $100 tip, I don't think the pie's _that_ good, especially just one little bite of it."

She grabbed up one of Angel's free hands, hers warm against his glove, and pressed the change into his palm. She smiled at him sweetly, concerned, a mother's smile. She began to pull away, leaving the cash with Angel, but he stopped her, snatching her hand before it was gone, before she was gone, before he came to his senses. He didn't know what he was doing, didn't know why he was doing it, but he couldn't keep his mouth shut any fucking longer.

"I know where Al is."


	8. Alastor's Real Name was Alvère

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here--the thrilling follow-up to a cliffhanger I included on an absolute, mindless whim! "This series was supposed to be made up of short isolated incidents" you might say to yourself, but I don't play by anyone's rules, not even my own!
> 
> Anyway, sorry this was so delayed--the end of the semester is always a busy one for me and I had limited free time at my disposal! That said, things are winding down so I should be able to add more chapters soon!
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and I hope it was worth the wait! As always, thank you for the lovely support and kind comments--they mean the world to me!

_ Alastor’s real name was Alvère _.

“No sir, I’m sorry, we don’t allow prostitution in the hotel.”

“What the hell ya mean? This is a hotel--that’s what they’re fucking for!”

Charlie’s eyes twitched as she attempted to keep her smile bright and carefree. The demons before her were quite a pair--a short, squat rat demon and a tall, slender snake dressed in what could only be described as a bright red bathing suit with tassels.

“Well, this is a hotel about redemption,” Charlie tried to explain, ignoring the way Husk chuckled at her struggles. God, where was Vaggie? Or Alastor? “Demons come here when they want to be redeemed of their sins.”

“So fucking is a sin?” the rat demon posed, tiny eyes going tinier as he squinted accusatorily at her. The snake demon hissed aggressively at the princess. “That seems like a really fucked up mindset if you ask me.”

“No, sir, that’s not what I meant,” Charlie tried, getting exasperated. “We just don’t allow any acts in the hotel that would… go against the moral code of our establishment. So we don’t allow for guests to bring prostitutes back and have--”

Charlie was cut off by Angel suddenly bursting through the front doors and running across the lobby, a woman in tow. She looked like a little porcelain doll, lots of frills, pale skin, big eyes, vintage dress. She looked around with wonder at the room she had entered, trying to take in everything even as Angel tried to rush her past the other demons.

“A-Angel? Who’s that?” Charlie called out, confused. The woman turned and smiled a big smile that looked… familiar? But where? Charlie couldn’t place it.

“A prostitute,” Angel shot back. “She’s gonna show me some new tricks for my act--no big deal! Just stay out of my room for a while!”

And then the two were gone, the woman laughing and throwing a quick wave Charlie’s way before they disappeared around the corner and out of sight. Charlie stared after them for a long moment, not completely sure she understood what had just happened. She glanced over to Husk behind the bar, but he seemed as confused as she was. 

“Oh, so you ‘don’t allow prostitution’ huh?” the rat demon squeaked, snapping at Charlie to grab her attention. “Real nice lady, discriminating like that.”

“No, wait, I would never-!”

~~~~~~~~

“I know where Al is.”

Abigail stared for a long moment at the young man in front of her, mouth hanging open ever so slightly. He gripped her hand with such ferocity, like he was scared of letting go, and Abigail felt her heart ache for whatever was hanging over him even as her mind reeled with thoughts of her son. Her son. He was here. He was in Hell. This boy knew where he was. This boy who had sat with her and listened to her lament knew where her Al was. Her heart ached at the thought.

~~~~~~~~

“Show me where he is,” Abigail drilled, hands on her hips, brows furrowed in frustration. 

“I _ can’t _,” Angel explained for the third time, feeling exasperated and terrified and guilty all at once. Abigail had quickly kicked everyone out of the diner, even her dishwasher, locked it up, and flipped the CLOSED sign after Angel had dropped the bomb. They were standing in the middle of the diner now and Abigail was tugging off her apron and tossing it over the bar.

“You _ can _,” Abigail corrected, looking at Angel pointedly, “and you will.”

“You don’t understand,” Angel said, a pair of hands on her shoulders, another finding her wrists. “I’m not even supposed to _ be _ here. Hell, I’m probably really not even supposed to _ know _ about you, but Al was all emotional over your birthday and needed someone to talk to about it.”

Abigail’s determined look faltered ever so slightly, her gaze casting down as the weight of Angel’s words hit her. She gently caressed the broach on her chest, pursing her lips.

“You’re real close to my Al, aren’t you?” Abigail guessed, not looking back to Angel yet. 

Angel thought about the late nights locked away in Alastor’s room, going out on the town together when no one was paying attention, the way Alastor had started holding his hand more, the way they slept together, Angel curled into Alastor’s side like a puppy.

“Uh, you could say that.”

“Please, Angel,” Abigail begged, and Angel was taken aback by the pleading look in her eyes. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “Please take me to him. Or, at least to wherever he is. I don’t have to talk to him and he doesn’t have to see me. I just---I just need to see _ him _ . _ Please _.”

Angel didn’t know what to do. Half of him was screaming to run and never look back. The other half was telling him that that was a bad idea because Abigail knew where he lived and if she came snooping around the hotel asking for “Al” they’d all point her in the direction of Alastor, and Angel would be rightly fucked. _ God, you’re already rightly fucked no matter what you do, _ he told himself, grimacing at the thought. As if reading his thoughts, Abigail suddenly dropped her clasped hands and crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. 

“You know what?” she said haughtily. “I’ll just go myself.”

And suddenly Angel’s hands were empty and Abigail was marching out the door. Angel scurried after her, grimacing at the thought of her walking around at all without him. What if someone _ saw _ her? Angel paused, realizing that demons probably saw her walking around pretty regularly and it was, in fact, just him being overly nervous about the whole ordeal.

“What are you doing?” Angel accused, standing behind Abigail as she locked up shop. 

“I’m going to that Happy Hotel place to find my son,” Abigail said matter-of-factly and Angel felt the blood drain from his face.

“No way, you can’t do that! Alastor’s not even there!”

Abigail paused, blinking up at Angel like he had just said the strangest thing.

“Alastor?” she breathed out, hands gripping her skirt tightly. “He calls himself Alastor?”

“Uh, yeah,” Angel replied, glancing around uncertainly. “That’s his name isn’t it?”

Abigail didn’t respond, just glanced away, frowning. Angel pursed his lips, unsure of what the problem was and equally unsure of what to do in the next moment. One hand found the nape of his neck, rubbing it as he wracked his brain for ideas on how to keep Abigail away from the hotel, away from Alastor.

“Mr. Angel, you seem like a really nice young man and I get the feeling you care a lot about my boy,” Abigail said, dark eyes finding Angel’s and staring him down, determination radiating off of her like a sickness, “but I’m not about to let you keep me from doin’ anything. I’m going to that hotel and I’m finding my son and either you’re gonna help me or you’re gonna get the hell out of my way.”

Angel felt his blood run cold at the glare, at the intensity of the threatening southern drawl. Abigail was shorter than him, significantly so, but she seemed to tower in that moment, a desperate woman preparing to push him out of the way if he wouldn’t move himself.

“What’s it gonna be?” she posed, hands on her hips.

Angel’s brain worked in overdrive, desperately trying to come up with something, some way to save this situation, to not fuck everything up more than he already had. His mind kept returning to Alastor, to some horribly realistic image of his disappointment, his ire. Angel couldn’t face that, couldn’t lose all the ground he had steadily been making, couldn’t lose his Radio Demon. 

“I’ll take you to Al,” Angel finally relented, “but you gotta promise that you’ll stay hidden. If he sees you, if he finds out that I contacted you, he’ll kill me.”

“I promise,” Abigail said, relief flooding her features.

~~~~~~~~

Angel tugged Abigail left and right through the corridors of the hotel, dipping into alcoves whenever he thought he heard someone approaching, back taut with fear that it would be that familiar tall drink of water. It never was, thankfully, and Angel was able to get Abigail to his room without running into the red-clad lad. Throwing the door open, Angel practically tossed Abigail into the room, stumbling in after her and being sure to double and triple check to make sure they were locked up tight. 

“Oh, what a lovely little suite!” Abigail exclaimed as her gaze flitted across the room. Then, when they fell on Fat Nuggets, “Oh lordy, look at this little darlin’!” 

In a moment the pig was cradled in her arms, thin fingers gently providing scritches right behind the creature’s ears. Fat Nuggets squealed first in excitement at seeing Angel, then in surprise at being picked up, and finally contentedly as he was shown such immediate affection. Angel stared in shock at how willingly Fat Nuggets gave himself over to the stranger, usually being a least a _ bit _ hesitant around newcomers. Shaking off the surprise, Angel set to work, moving around his crowded room, tossing clothing items left and right.

While Angel tore the room apart in search of whatever he was looking for, Abigail moved to the bed, plopping down and setting Fat Nuggets in her lap. She reached a hand down and gently stroked the fuzzy pink blanket covering the bed, chuckling slightly at the haphazard arrangement of fifteen pillows across the sheets. Posters lined the walls depicting both Angel and other celebrities, and Angel had written in what appeared to be pink Sharpie notes and comments about them all, many risque enough to make Abigail blush and giggle. Sitting opposite the bed was a large armoire, thrown open, containing a plethora of cotton-candy-colored outfits, each more outlandish than the next, and beside the armoire was a vanity with beauty products and scribbled notes spread across it. 

Abigail hopped off the bed when she noticed the table, leaving a disappointed Fat Nuggets on the bed as she moved to inspect the dressing table closer. Pinned around the attached mirror were photographs. There was one of Angel and Fat Nuggets, the spider demon pressing his grinning face against his piglet in front of some tall building; one was of two women, both spider demons with matching grins, six pairs of arms wrapped around an embarrassed-looking, but very pleased Angel; and one was of a group of individuals standing in front of the hotel. Angel was there, standing in the back and striking some glamour pose, and Abigail recognized the cat demon and the princess from downstairs, the former standing begrudgingly off to the side of the group, the latter standing front and center with a proud grin on her face. Beside the princess was a dark-skinned young woman, eyes cherishingly on the hellish heiress, and to her other side was a small, one-eyed lass with a feather duster in one hand and a washrag in the other. And behind them all stood a tall man dressed all in red, a microphone stand in his hand, a toothy grin plastered across his features. Abigail stared and stared and felt her breath hitch in her throat.

“Al…” she breathed out, reaching a free hand out to gently stroke the face of the tall demon in the back of the picture. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she recognized her son, perhaps from the deer ears or the vintage microphone stand or maybe simply because of the energy exuding off of him. He’d always been a showman--Abigail could imagine him looking something like this in his afterlife visage. 

“Abigail?” 

Angel’s voice broke the woman in question out of her trance and she jumped, spinning on the spider. Angel stood holding up a jacket, a big fluffy white one made from what looked like polar bear fur. It was huge, long enough to reach Angel’s ankles, and it had a large collar that probably would cover poor little Abigail’s entire face. The two paused, staring at each other silently, before Angel’s eyes fell on the picture Abigail had been perusing. He grimaced, realizing what must have happened, and took a deep breath before continuing.

“Come on, let’s get you all disguised up,” he said and threw the coat over Abigail’s shoulders. 

Soon enough she was engulfed by the coat, the ends of it pooling around her feet. All that was visible was her head, and even that was heavily obscured by the thick collar. To cover her ears, Angel tossed a wide-brimmed black hat over her head and gave her a pair of sparkly pink sunglasses for good measure. The ensemble complete, Angel stepped back to admire his work, a pair of hands on his hips, confident grin exuding pride at a job well done.

“Damn, I’m good,” he said, nodding approvingly at the unrecognizable Abigail. “Fat Nuggets, am I good or what?”

Fat Nuggets, perched atop a large pillow in the middle of the bed, squealed with excitement.

“Damn right,” Angel agreed, grinning at the other demon. “Your own mother wouldn’t be able to recognize you.”

“If you say so,” Abigail returned, glancing at herself in the mirror. She made a few faces, striking poses like the ones she saw on the posters around the room. “I feel like a model in all of this junk.”

“Hey now!” Angel cried, pouting. “That stuff’s not junk--that coat alone probably cost more than your diner.”

“You must be real good at what you do,” Abigail posed, “to be able to afford all this.”

“You’re damn right I’m good at it,” Angel remarked, grinning mischievously before he remembered who he was talking to and it dropped. Abigail chuckled as she spotted his quick-change of expressions in the reflection of the mirror.

“This means I get to see Al now, right?” Abigail said, turning back to Angel with an excited pep to her step.

“From a distance, yes,” Angel explained, all arms crossing. “He would definitely recognize you right away if we got too close--I just know it. So we’re gonna keep our distance and just act casual. He’s probably down in the kitchen or the theater maybe, so we’ll walk past those places first and then maybe we’ll go past his room if we don’t find him, but we’re definitely not go--”

“Angel, are you in there?”

Angel froze where he stood, eyes going wide with panic as his head whipped towards the bedroom door. Alastor. The knocking on the door made Angel’s stomach feel heavier with each hit and a cold sweat broke out across his whole body.

“Oh fuck…” he murmured under his breath, hands going to his hair as he began to pace. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…”

“Angel, open up,” Alastor called, knocking some more. “Charlie said she was worried about you, that you came in in just the biggest tizzy with some prostitute in tow. She asked me to check on you and make sure you were behaving yourself.”

Angel was in full panic mode, pacing the room at breakneck speed. Abigail and Fat Nuggets both watched with blank expressions, their heads moving from side to side as they followed Angel’s movements. After a moment, Abigail turned her expression to the door and before Angel could stop her, she had unlocked it and pulled it open. 

Standing in the doorway was the man himself, tall, dark, and intimidating as all hell. He peered curiously down at the woman before him, arms crossed behind his back, brow cocked in an inquisitive fashion. Angel froze, one leg dangling in the air mid-step, and stared flabbergasted at the scene of the two demons staring at each other through the doorway.

“Well, hello there,” Alastor greeted, leaning down just slightly to inspect the woman. “And who might you be? A friend of Angel’s?”

While he remained facing the woman in front of him, Alastor’s gaze flitted over to the spider demon’s form, silently questioning the presence of the newcomer. Angel immediately darted over, slipping himself between mother and son and contorting himself so he filled almost the entire doorway, arms stretching out to grip the door frame. 

He tried to look casual. 

He didn’t look casual. 

Abigail maneuvered multiple times in an attempt to peer at Alastor from behind the six-armed man.

“Yes, a friend!” Angel said, trying for a winning grin. “Longtime friend! Known her for years and just recently reconnected. She’s showing me some things she’s learned. Really fuckin’ nasty stuff, very sexual. You’d hate it, let me tell ya, so you probably wanna just skedaddle and be on your way. I’m totally fine, so you can just tell Charlie that I’m fine and then everything will be fine.”

Alastor stared at Angel like he was a deranged animal, brows raised in quiet surprise, grin present but wavering, confused. Angel heard Abigail snort behind him. 

“Is that so?” Alastor questioned slowly, tilting his head so as to get a better look at the woman mostly hidden behind his companion. “And what’s this friend of yours’s name?”

“Ab… sinthe!” Angel quickly corrected himself, feeling the sweat pooling at the nape of his neck. “Absinthe is her name and fucking demons is her game.” He laughed, trying to sound casual. 

He didn’t sound casual. 

“Dear lord, honey, you’re bad at this.”

Angel felt every hair on his body stand on end when Abigail spoke, every muscle in him tightening. He stared at Alastor, watching his expression, that panic coming in larger and larger waves with each passing moment. He watched as confusion turned to recognition and recognition turned to anger, searing, Hell-spinning anger. His face contorted and Angel just briefly noticed the way his ears ever so slightly quivered before the breath was knocked out of him and he went sprawling across his plush rug, just barely missing Abigail’s form as he was thrown to the ground.

“A-Al, I can explain,” he tried, scurrying back as the Radio Demon stalked towards him, eyes ablaze with indignation. 

Angel’s gaze darted around, looking for anything that he could grab to try and protect himself with. He spotted one of his pistols stashed away under his armoire and dove for it, but Alastor was too quick and had Angel pinned before he could get very far at all. Heat radiated off of the Radio Demon, mingling with the sounds of radio static and discordant jazz. Angel stared up at him, at this man he’d been so close to just hours before, at this man he’d be falling for for months now. Angel saw everything he’d worked so hard for slipping away, saw the end of those late night romps, the hand-holding, the secret kisses. He saw the end of Alastor’s little teases and pokes and prods, the end of the dancing, their cooking, their everything. He closed his eyes, terrified, and prepared to face the end. The end of his relationship with Al, the end of his afterlife--he couldn’t decide in that moment what was worse.

“Alvère Laurant Lavelle, you get your hands off that boy right this instant.”

When no pain was felt, no afterlife-ending blow given, Angel cracked open his eyes enough to glance up at Alastor. The demon was still on top of him, still pinning him to the plush pink rug, but his face was devoid of rage, the expression instead replaced with something akin to a conflicting mixture of panic and wonder. Angel stared at this new expression, this new discovery, trying to remember it as best he could. He doubted he’d see it ever again.

Slowly, Alastor leaned back, slipping off of Angel and plopping down on the ground to his side, staring up at the woman towering over them. Abigail had thrown off her disguise, the pile of furs discarded beside Fat Nuggets on the bed. Abigail stood tall and proud in her frilly dress, hands on her hips, hair half falling out of her bun from the force with which she’d stripped off the wide-brimmed hat. Her brows were furrowed determinedly, her gaze hard, but her lips were quivering. Angel glanced between the two, mother and son, barely breathing for fear of ruining the tension.

“Mama…” Alastor finally murmured, his voice softer than Angel had ever heard it. The spider’s heart broke a little hearing that tone, that word spoken so sweetly, so sadly.

Abigail’s heart must have broken, too, because in a flash she had thrown herself at her son, almost knocking him over with the force of her affectionate grapple. Her arms wrapped around Alastor’s neck and Angel saw the stream of tears running down her cheeks and spilling onto Alastor’s nice suit. Alastor, in turn, stared straight ahead, eyes wide, mouth a small _ o _, arms pressed back against the ground to keep them upright. Soon enough, though, those arms were around the petite woman, fingers digging into the folds of her dress as if they were lifelines keeping the demon afloat. He pressed his face into Abigail’s hair, and Angel watched his expression soften, contorting not with rage but with something far more affectionate. It was an expression Angel had longed to be aimed at him, an expression of relief and happiness and warmth.

After a moment, Abigail pulled back and tried to frown at her son, but her grin kept poking through, elation ruining the stern expression she was trying to muster. Alastor allowed her to move away, but he kept a grip on her sleeves, as if he was scared she would disappear if he let go.

“You stupid little boy,” she reprimanded, voice shaky, but happy. They wore matching smiles, matching expressions of conflicted happiness and terror. She put her hand on Alastor’s cheek, gently, lovingly, and pressed her forward against his. “You stupid, stupid little boy. How could you keep your mama waiting so long?”

“M-Mama I-- I don’t-- You’re not supposed to be here--”

“I know, I know, you didn’t want to see me,” Abigail interrupted, pulling her face back, and Angel heard the pain in her voice, in the way it cracked. “And I understand, I do. I was horrible, leaving you there all alone like that. I should have been stronger, I should have been there for you, I should have… I shouldn’t have…”

She trailed off, her breath hitching in her throat. Alastor stared at his mother like a lost puppy, leaning into her shaky touch. Abigail quickly regained her composure, or what she could of it, and gripped both sides of Alastor’s face with her hands.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie, I’m so, so sorry. I-I was so bad to you, and I know I don’t deserve this, I know I shouldn’t get the chance to see you or talk to your or anything ever again, but I just--I just-- when Mr. Angel came around and mentioned you I just… I couldn’t help myself! I missed you so much, _ mon petit chou _, and even if I didn’t deserve it at all, I had to see you, to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine mama,” Alastor replied and Angel’s heart flipped at his tone, so soft, so loving, “but I’m not your little one anymore. I’ve done things, bad things, and I’m no more deserving than you.”

“_ Chut, mon petite! _” Abigail exclaimed, accent thick as she gently slapped Alastor’s cheek, brows furrowing. “There’s not a thing you could have done that would make me want to stay away from you.”

“Mama, you don’t understand…”

“_Tais-toi! _ I’ll hear no more of it!” Abigail exclaimed. “This is Hell, _ mon petit _\--I know what goes on here. Remember, I’ve been here longer than you have. I don’t care what you’ve done. You’re my Alvère, my little Al. That’s not changin’!”

There was a long silence between the two, each trying to stare the other down, to prove to the other that their guilt was greater, more deserved, until finally the tension broke and they smiled at one another--beautiful, wide, matching grins. Alastor looked so relieved in that moment, like some weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and the sight was so blinding that Angel had to look away.

As the two continued to share their moment, Angel glanced around the room, wondering if he should take his chance to slip away. He spotted the door slightly ajar and began to slink his way over. Unfortunately, he didn’t go as unnoticed as he’d hoped and he soon felt a hand grip one of his wrists, holding him in place. Turning back to the matching pair, Angel saw the challenging look Abigail was sending his way. There were stains from her tears on her cheeks, but she didn’t appear to be crying anymore.

“I don’t know where ya think you’re going,” she said and Angel looked past her to catch Alastor’s expression. 

The Radio Demon looked conflicted as he stared at the spider, like he couldn’t quite make up his mind about him. Angel swallowed slowly and shook off Abigail’s hand, deliberately looking away from both of them. He stood quickly, dusting off his outfit, and shook his head.

“I’m gettin’ outta your moment,” Angel explained as nonchalantly as if he were listing off groceries. “It’s not my place. You two have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Like hell it’s not your place,” Abigail shot back standing up as well. She was quickly followed by Alastor who continued to stand beside his mother, though his eyes were stuck on the spider. “We wouldn’t even be having this reunion if you hadn’t come barging into my diner and done such a poor job of lying.”

“Ah,” Alastor noted and the sound sent a shiver down Angel’s spine, “why am I not surprised?”

“You stop it,” Abigail protested, smacking Alastor lightly in the chest. Angel almost laughed at the hurt expression that crossed Alastor’s face. Almost. Abigail continued, “and don’t you start acting like this boy means nothing to you. It’s unbecomin’ and rude. You snagged yourself a real sweet one--you don’t wanna scare him off with your unwarranted boorish behavior.”

“I don’t know what you mean Mama,” Alastor tried, but Abigail just scoffed.

“_ Mais enfin _ , are you really gonna make me force it out of ya?” she shot back, crossing her arms and cocking a challenging eyebrow at her son. “I may not have seen you since you were 15, but I know how to read my boy. And you,” she shot a knowing, mischievous look at Angel, “you’re so _ fou amoureux _ it’s almost unbearable.”

“_ Fou amoureux _?” Angel asked.

“Crazy in love,” Alastor translated, the slightest hint of teasing laughter in his tone. The spider demon felt himself fill with embarrassed heat and he put on a pout as he turned away from the pair of deer.

“Ha! He wishes,” Angel tried, instinctively acting aloof when faced with his feelings. 

Abigail barked out a laugh, walking away from Alastor and up to Angel. She gently patted his cheek, smiling warmly up at him.

“You’re very obvious, Angel dear,” she teased, forcing him to make eye contact. “I saw the way you got flustered at the mention of him and how worried you were that he would get mad at you.” She nodded towards his vanity. “And all those little doodles of his name on those little notes were a dead give-away.”

Angel felt heat rising all throughout him and he glared over at the incriminating notes on his table. Alastor never came to his room, so he never bothered to hide anything like that, but there were definitely little scribbles littering the space, scrawlings of affectionate writings about the Radio Demon that had been plaguing the spider. Angel sent a threatening stare Alastor’s way when he took a step towards the notes, stopping him in his tracks and eliciting just the faintest of chuckles. Laughter. Good. That was good.

Abigail smiled at Angel knowingly, also hearing the small chuckle, and nodded at him faintly with a secret wink only he could see. Then, she turned back to her son, one hand on her hip, the other motioning towards Angel.

“Now,” she posed, “are you gonna be upfront with your mama, _mon_ _petit_, or do I have to embarrass the poor thing more?”

Alastor’s laugh was louder this time, less restrained, fuller. He looked relieved, brighter, like the Alastor Angel saw when they were alone at night. He shook his head and walked past his mother and to Angel’s side, wrapping an arm around the spider’s hips and pulling him close. Angel felt his heart flutter uncontrollably at the touch, something he thought he’d lost for good this time, and he stared at Alastor with an unbridled look of awestruck wonder.

“Mama,” Alastor said, grip on Angel’s hip tightening just slightly as he nodded toward his companion, “this is _ mon chèri _, Angel Dust.” 

“Lovely to meet you officially, _ mon beau fils _,” Abigail said, clapping her hands delightedly, a grin the size of Fat Nuggets spreading across her features. Angel felt Alastor’s grip tighten again at the French words and he wondered what they meant, though he didn’t ask. “Now that that’s all settled and we’re all properly introduced, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Let’s go to lunch. I’ll meet you both in the lobby.”

And before either man could say a word in protest, Abigail was gone, disappearing through the door, which she quickly shut behind her. The two stared after the woman, silence filling the room for a long moment. Angel nervously glanced at Alastor, swallowing hard, watching his expression carefully.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Alastor finally said, shooting Angel a teasing side-glance. Angel felt hot under the stare, “though things usually don’t when you’re around.”

“You’re one to talk,” Angel shot back, the hint of a familiar grin playing at his lips. “Never a dull moment dating the Radio Demon--I was sure you were going to kill me back there.”

“I was, too.” 

Angel grimaced, glancing away as he tried to forget the moment. He was pulled back by Alastor, however, as he grabbed at his chin and made him look directly at him. 

“I’m glad I didn’t,” Alastor said, and Angel felt the butterflies in his stomach begin to throw a goddamn rave. “I’d have regretted it.”

“That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Angel instinctively teased.

Alastor chuckled, softly, the sound ringing like bells in Angel’s ears as the Radio Demon’s thumb gently ran across his skin. 

“I’ll have to fix that soon, _ mon chèri _,” he responded, and a shiver ran through Angel’s entire body at the words, the French term of endearment slipping off of Alastor’s tongue like sweet wine. He had forgotten how good Alastor was at this, how easily he was able to slip betwen the cracks in Angel’s barriers and make him melt. He was glad he’d been graced with the opportunity to be reminded.

“Am I supposed to call you Alvère when you speak French like that?” Angel teased, trying unsuccessfully to cover up how breathless he was. Alastor rolled his eyes. “What? It’s cute. Very French.”

“And what about you?” Alastor posed, brow cocking inquisitively. “Do I get to know your old moniker?”

“Oh, definitely not,” Angel responded, shooting his companion a wink. “I’ve gotta keep you guessing or you’ll get bored and leave.”

“I don’t think that’ll happen anytime soon,” Alastor replied and before Angel could pose a response he was kissing him. 

_ He always has to have the last word, doesn’t he? _ Angel thought to himself, internally rolling his eyes even as he melted like chocolate into the kiss, gripping at the lapels on Alastor’s jacket until his knuckles ached.


	9. Alastor was a Very Giving Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been forever since I've added to this, and this chapter was just sitting half-written in my Docs folder... so here you go! Finally got to finishing it! Hope you enjoy!

_ Alastor was a very giving lover. _

“I’ve got a surprise for you tonight.”

The words had never sounded so simultaneously ominous and enticing before the moment they left Alastor’s lips. He had said them so casually, just in passing as he sat beside the spider in the back of Charlie’s limo. The group had been on their way to a publicity event and Angel had found a way to seat himself beside the Radio Demon—he’d ignored Charlie’s subtle look when he’d slid in beside the man. Even if they weren’t able to touch or anything like that, Angel appreciated just being near the other demon, being able to feel the warm radiations coming off of him. 

“What?” he’d posed, blinking in confusion. Alastor just grinned and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and looking proud of himself.

_ That bastard _ Angel thought, frowning and already falling into the trap of contemplation and anxiousness that Alastor had clearly just laid out for him. He turned away, pouting slightly, and stared out the window of the limo for the rest of the drive, wracking his brain for some inkling of what exactly Alastor was planning.

Eight hours later, as Angel stood outside Alastor’s door, he still was trying to anticipate what awaited him. He didn’t usually knock when he entered for these late-night visits, but he self-consciously wondered if he should this time, to give Alastor some sort of warning that he was there. Instead, he glanced up and down the hallway, made sure no one was around, took a deep breath, and then stepped in. 

Candles.

Lots of candles.

Alastor’s room, normally lit by some old school chandeliers, was filled with what had to be a hundred burgundy candles of varying sizes. They cast a soft, warm glow across the space, shadows dancing across the cream walls and dark furniture. The candles themselves weren’t scented, but the aroma of some vanilla and bourbon mixture filled the room, a tantalizingly welcoming and warm scent to match the lighting. 

And at first that was it--some candles and the smell of vanilla--but then the sound of a soft piano tune began to build and with it came Alastor, stepping out of the bathroom like he was stepping onto stage: back straight, grin broad and knowing. He eyed Angel and the spider saw the excitement bubbling behind that gaze.

“Al?” he questioned, eyes slowly moving around the room. “What--uh--what’s goin’ on?”

“I told you,” Alastor said, and in a moment one hand was grasping Angel’s and the other was leading his hips in a slow dance to the crooning of the piano, “I have a surprise for you tonight.”

Angel, without hesitation, let Alastor begin to lead him in the dance. It was one of his favorite things about the other demon, the way he just took hold of his body and began to move with it—these were some of the most personal moments they shared. He easily, almost habitually, found the places to set his uncaptured hands—one wrapped around Alastor’s neck, just ever so slightly tangling with the ends of his hair; one on Alastor’s shoulder, gripping it gently; and a final one on Alastor’s chest, right where his heart should be, occasionally toying with the buttons of his jacket as they swayed. 

“Well, I’m definitely surprised, I’ll give ya that,” Angel retorted, eyes glancing again around the room at the candles, his heart fluttering ever so slightly. It was a simple little romantic gesture, but that was enough--Angel had gotten used to the subtle ways in which Alastor showed his affection, so even something as small as this went a long way.

“The candles aren’t the surprise,” Alastor responded, and Angel eyed the way his grin widened mischievously. He cocked a brow in question. Alastor continued, “Can I use my powers on you, just a bit?”

“Whatya gonna do?” Angel questioned, missing a step in their dance. Alastor easily covered the mistake, leading Angel back to the rhythm.

“It’s a surprise,” Alastor said in reply, gently squeezing Angel’s hip, the latter’s heart skipping a beat at the touch. “May I?” Mildly reluctant, but wholly enticed, Angel simply nodded his consent. Alastor’s grin grew even wider. “Close your eyes.” 

Again reluctantly, Angel followed the other’s command and closed his eyes. After a moment he felt Alastor’s forehead press against his and a static-y tingle begin to form where their skin touched. He had felt Alastor’s powers before, numerous times, but it still gave him a bit of a start and he mis-stepped once more. Again Alastor recovered and the two continued their little dance. Angel felt Alastor’s power seeping into him, searching him, running all the way from the tip of his ears to the ends of his toes. He shivered a bit at the feeling, but didn’t pull away or open his eyes, even as his body began to go numb from whatever Alastor was doing. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Alastor pulled his head away and told Angel to open his eyes.

When he did, Angel came face-to-face with a stranger.

Well, actually, after a moment of inspection, this wasn’t a stranger at all--it was Al. But it wasn’t Alastor, the Radio Demon. This was Alvère, the human. Angel’s breath hitched in his throat and he once again stumbled. Alastor once again kept them moving, grip tightening on Angel’s waist as he chuckled at the other’s surprise.

“Careful there,” he said and Angel felt shell-shocked by the voice. The sound was simultaneously foreign and familiar, clearly Al’s, but also clearly something different. It had the same drawl, the same accent, but there wasn’t any background--no radio static or audience participation, no echo or reverb. It was just… a voice. And he was just a man. A handsome man. A _ really _ handsome man. Tall and thin, suit replaced by a more casual button-up/maroon vest combo, dark auburn hair still full of volume, but pushed up into some sort of loose 1920s pompadour—Alastor looked like he was plucked right out of some _ Great Gatsby _ adaptation. He was grinning, his mouth filled with a perfectly-spaced set of normal teeth, eyes the color of chestnuts, hidden now behind a pair of thin, round glasses, and he had a smattering of freckles across his cheeks that Angel couldn’t keep his eyes off. He felt warmer, too, something Angel relished in.

“H-How did you…” Angel trailed off, Alastor chuckling again at his companion’s stupor. 

“I’m not the only one,” he responded, nodding towards the full-length mirror on the outside of the armoire. Angel looked over at the mirror and about had a heart attack, his stomach doing flips. 

In the reflection, Angel saw Alastor, human Alastor, and he saw him leading a man in a slow dance, a man with an olive complexion and almond-shaped eyes the color of molten chocolate, both inherited from his mother, a man with a mess of dirty blonde hair atop his head, a few loose strands falling into his face, a faint splash of freckles littering his cheeks. Alastor was holding Angel, how he’d been when he was alive, dressed in a pastel pink button-up, something his sister had bought him in secret when he was in his early twenties, and a pair of white slacks--the outfit he’d died in. He glanced back to Alastor’s arrangement of cuffed white button-down, vest, bow tie, and slacks and wondered if that had been what he’d worn the day he’d died.

“I—I don’t—How—?” Angel fumbled over his words, gaze shifting from Alastor to his _ two _ hands to the mirror and back again, repeating the journey multiple times. Alastor just continued to snicker at his companion, the motion making his glasses bounce a bit on the bridge of his nose. 

“Magic,” Alastor teased, taking his own look at the pair in the mirror, grinning excitedly at Angel’s reflection. “It’s a hell of a drug, huh?"

Angel’s eyes finally stuck to Alastor’s face, taking the time to enjoy the scenery, to explore the new crevices and twists and turns. He had a faint scar running through his right eyebrow, a fresh scratch peeking out from under his collar, the smallest of gaps between his front two teeth. He was taller than Angel, just enough that he had to look up to meet his eyes, and in them he saw life and excitement and pride all mixed together. 

“I can see how you snagged so many victims,” Angel murmured, trying for a joke, but his tone came out something more akin to awe. “A mug like that’s sure to get them crawling to a secluded cabin in the woods.”

“You’re not wrong,” Alastor relented, shrugging slightly. Angel instinctively tightened his grip on the other’s shoulder, as if his body was nervous that any wrong move would send Alastor careening away from him. “And look at you,” he continued, lifting their entwined hands up so that he could gently toy with one of the loose strands of Angel’s hair, “quite the little heartthrob you must have been.”

“Hardly,” Angel scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I was too effeminate for the ladies of the 1940s.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in women.”

“Well, I wasn’t, but men weren’t really a viable option at that point,” Angel explained, pursing his lips at the memories of all those silent infatuations and secret exchanges of eye contact, the late-night, heart-racing meetings that left Angel afraid for his life, but high on the danger of what he’d just done, “at least not publicly.”

“Well I would have been publicly interested in you,” Alastor noted as casually as if he were talking about the weather. Angel felt his stomach clench and he instinctively pressed himself close to the other man. Alastor continued to twirl that strand of blonde hair around his finger. “You would have been just my type.”

“Doesn’t that mean I would have ended up locked in some shack out in the bayou?” Angel pointed out.

“Probably,” Alastor admitted, smile softening as he focused his gaze on the lock of hair, like he was reminiscing about something, “but maybe not.”

And suddenly Angel felt adrift under Alastor’s stare, even if it was directed at just a lock of his hair. He let himself become lost, watching the older man before him, letting his fingers absentmindedly graze the back of Alastor’s neck as he went sightseeing. He watched the way Alastor’s eyes squinted when he smiled, the way he occasionally twitched his nose like the witch from that old sitcom in order to keep his glasses up, the way his tongue slid across his lips when they got too dry. It was intoxicating, this new form, and Angel let himself imagine that it was real, that they were back on Earth, whole lives ahead of them, dancing together in some hotel room to a song on the radio. He imagined Alastor, the radio star, inviting him up to his suite after a meeting in some smoke-filled bar where he imagined they had flirted over glasses of over-priced liquor. He imagined Alastor telling him about his life, his work, his home, and he imagined himself falling head over heels for the charming man just like he’d been doing for months now. He imagined Alastor whisking him off his feet, stealing him away from the gang-filled streets of New York and to the warm nature of Louisiana, to ice tea on the porch and Mardi Gras and walking through the crowded streets of New Orleans and ogling at the street performers. He imagined late-night strolls across the riverbanks to watch the boats light up with music and cheer, and he imagined growing old. He imagined growing old with Alastor.

“I love you.”

The words left Angel’s lips before he could stop them, and this time it was Alastor’s turn to stumble in the dance. They stopped moving, the music going quiet around them as Alastor lost focus on it, and the two just stared at each other. Angel felt his throat go dry, his palms get sweaty, his heart begin to palpitate. Alastor just kept staring at him, not saying a word, thin eyebrows arched sky-high above the rims of his glasses.

“I—I mean—I mean I—” Angel fumbled for something to say, to explain that he’d made a mistake, that he’d let the moment get the best of him, that he’d just gotten lost in his own musings, that he--

“Say it again.”

Alastor’s voice was quiet, reserved, and almost innocent-sounding. His chestnut gaze bore into Angel like a torpedo, shooting fireworks off all over the younger man’s body. Angel was conflicted. When he’d said it, he’d realized it was true, but he didn’t want to say it again, was scared to repeat it. But he forced himself to overcome.

“I-I love you.”

Angel watched with bated breath the way Alastor licked his lips, the way he swallowed so slowly, the way he tilted his head ever so slightly to the left, as if he needed to adjust the way he faced in order to hear Angel more clearly. 

“Again.”

“Al, I don’t--”

“Please.”

It was the first time Angel had ever really heard the word leave Alastor’s mouth, at least in this manner. It was heart-wrenching, time stopping. Angel just nodded, unable to think of a way to counter that simple little word.

“I love you,” he breathed out for the third time, the words still feeling foreign in his mouth. 

Slowly, Alastor released Angel’s hand and moved to cradle the man’s face instead. His thumb ran across the smooth skin of Angel’s cheek, leaving what felt like scorch marks in its wake. 

“Again.”

“I love you.” 

It came easier this time, more naturally, as Alastor caressed his cheekbone, as he gazed down at him like that, like Angel was the only thing in the whole room, the whole world even. Alastor kissed him, then, and Angel’s entire body shook with the sensation, his hands both cradling Alastor’s neck as their bodies pressed together. The feeling of their lips against one another, of affectionate friction creating forest fires across their skin, was intoxicating. Angel wanted more, so much more of this, and he unintentionally sighed with displeasure when Alastor pulled away. He didn’t go far, however, lips hovering close enough for Angel to feel the other’s warm breath run across his skin.

“Again.”

Angel’s eyes found Alastor’s, locking with them.

“I love you,” he repeated, never breaking that eye contact, barely breathing. 

In a flash, Angel was off his feet, pressed instead down onto the grand four-poster bed with the satin sheets and familiar smell of Radio Demon. Alastor’s lips were on him again, just as his hips pressed down against Angel’s, the latter feeling the familiar rush of pleasure from the other’s commanding touch. Angel curved his body up to meet Alastor’s, his fingers intertwining with locks of auburn hair as he fervently met every offered kiss. He felt Alastor’s hands roaming, more than usual, tracing the contours of his body, his back, his hips, his legs. His body ached with every elongated touch from those slender fingers. Before he could stop himself, Angel heard the moan leave him, the sound vibrating against Alastor’s lips, lips that curved into a familiar smile even as they moved to press against the bend of Angel’s neck.

“Say it again,” Alastor murmured against that skin, the sensation making Angel’s entire being quake with anticipation.

“I love you.”

He was breathless, Alastor’s affectionate touches becoming braver, more adventurous, more provocative. Before he realized what had happened, Angel's shirt had been unbuttoned, the cloth pushed aside as Alastor continued his exploration. As his lips traced against Angel’s collarbone, Alastor let his tongue slip out and paint circles against the sensitive area, and Angel’s hips instinctively moved, grinding up against his companion. He bit his bottom lip in some conflicted reaction of embarrassment and arousal, but his hands were steadfast in showing their appreciation, moving across Alastor’s body as if in a high-speed chase, finding the buckle of his belt and beginning to undo it. 

_This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't_ _happening, _Angel repeated to himself over and over again as he felt Alastor's lips on him, heard the belt buckle hit the floor, felt the button of Alastor's slacks give way. Flashes of heat careened through him, suddenly stopped when he felt Alastor's hands take hold of his, stopping that exploration into what was beyond. 

_ This isn't happening. _Disappointment bubbled to the surface when his hands were caught, Angel internally screaming as his gaze flitted up to Alastor, ready to start a fight. Why did they have to stop? Why couldn't Alastor just let Angel do what he was best at? Why couldn't he just sit back and let Angel work?

"You," Alastor said, his voice almost a purr as he leaned down to murmur into Angel's ear. Angel froze in anticipation, words of consternation frozen in his throat, "are not in charge here, and you," Angel felt Alastor's teeth nip at his ear, sending shivers rolling down his spine, "are going to lay there and enjoy yourself."

Angel felt something inside of him crinkle like a piece of crumpled paper, static energy tingling through him from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his ears and the heels of his feet. His body ached at Alastor's words, ached _ for _ Alastor, and Angel wasn't quite sure what to do. He didn't just sit and enjoy sexual things--he was the one who initiated and led those encounters. Alastor pulled back from his ear, tongue tracing along Angel's bottom lip instead, his gaze challenging, determined.

"Is that understood?"

Angel didn't speak--just nodded in response. He wondered what noise would have left him if he'd attempted to reply. It wouldn't have been words.

"Good," Alastor replied and his tone, something akin to a predator examining its prey, rumbled through Angel's body like a barreling train. Angel would have liked to savor that moment, that voice, that hungry look in Alastor's eye, that feeling of Alastor's hips rubbing against his in _ just _ the right way, but the moment was over as quick as it had begun.

Alastor’s face disappeared from view, his lips making contact with Angel’s chest and taking the scenic route down to the hem of his slacks. Angel’s body shivered at every kiss, anticipatory moans leaving him every time he felt Alastor on him once more. The contact stopped and was replaced by the feeling of Alastor undoing Angel’s pants and it was all Angel could do to tear his eyes away from the roof of the canopied bed. He glanced down just as Alastor managed to pull his slacks down, his briefs straining to contain his erection. Alastor’s eyes found him as a devious grin spread across his features, Angel’s heart practically stopping. The other’s hand slid across that bulge, massaging him through his shorts, sending shots of tantalizing sensations through his body.

“B-But…” Angel tried, back arching as he felt the other’s hand tugging off the undergarments.

“There’s only a select few sounds I’d like to hear from you right now,” Alastor said and wrapped his hand around Angel’s cock. The younger man groaned in pleasure, involuntarily thrusting into the other’s hand before he could even start doing anything. “That one’s allowed,” Alastor teased with a faint chuckle, beginning to stroke Angel slowly, deliberately. “Let’s see if we can add a few more to the repertoire.”

And before Angel could process what was happening, he felt the warmth of Alastor’s mouth engulf his dick, tongue slipping out to toy at his tip as he sucked him off. Angel gasped, one hand entangling with Alastor’s mop of hair, the other gripping his own. Alastor bobbed his head up and down on Angel’s dick, his hand gripping the base firmly, and with each thrust Angel’s moans grew louder and louder.

“A-Al—” he moaned, eliciting a chuckle from the named man, the vibrations just driving Angel further and further over the edge. He was a lot better at this than Angel would have expected.

“That one’s allowed too,” Alastor teased, pulling his lips away, but continuing to rhythmically stroke Angel’s cock with his hand. Angel was panting, staring down at Alastor with hooded eyes, cheeks flushed, and he briefly wondered if this was all a dream, some fantasy his mind had conjured up from some drug he’d taken.

Never breaking eye contact, always grinning, Alastor let his free hand wander over Angel’s ass before slowly slipping a finger into him. Angel cried out in surprise, the sound quickly morphing into a mewl of pleasure as Alastor’s hands continued their work. A second slender finger joined the first, pumping into Angel in a matching rhythm with the hand on his cock. Angel felt the sensations pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his dick aching with the need to orgasm. He usually was better, was able to hold out longer, but this was _ Alastor _ , the fucking _ Radio Demon _, touching him in ways that he had only ever dreamed about.

“F-Fuck… A-Al…” he moaned out, fingers digging into the sheets beneath him as he felt himself coming to climax. Alastor’s fingers seemed to move faster, anticipating what was to come. Words hitching in his throat, guttural sounds replacing them, Angel came into Alastor’s hand, hot cum splattering across his chest. He panted, groaned, bit his bottom lip, squirmed as Alastor continued to slowly pleasure him.

“A-Al, you gotta… Al, you gotta stop…” he breathed out, cock throbbing in Alastor’s hands.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Alastor retorted, though he did relent and pull his hands away. He did this, however, merely to give him the leverage to flip Angel over onto his stomach. Angel let out a yelp at the move, fearful of getting cum all over Alastor’s bed, quickly scrambling onto his hands and knees. He went to readjust himself to his earlier position, but Alastor’s hands caught his waist and held him there, allowing him to grind his own cock against Angel’s backside.

“F-Fuck Al—” Angel crooned, almost unable to hold himself up with how much he was shivering. “I… I thought you weren’t into all this sexual stuff.”

The grinding continued, and Angel felt the warmth of Alastor’s breath on the back of his neck. “I’m not. Not really, at least,” Alastor murmured against Angel’s skin, “but I’m very into all this making-you-feel-good stuff.” Angel felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as Alastor’s tongue flicked out and ran across his shoulder blade. “Now, what else can I do to make you feel good?”

Angel had never really been asked that before, and definitely not in this sort of context. His cock throbbed with the possibilities and stared for a moment at his hands, crinkling the satin sheets beneath him, wondering how far Al would let him go.

“K-Kiss me more,” he tried, heart buzzing like a goddamn beehive when he felt Alastor’s lips pressing a loose pattern across his back. 

“And?” Alastor murmured, continuing his kisses. Angel felt the smile on Al’s lips and he swallowed slowly, building up the courage to continue. He was so terrified that he was going to go too far, say something wrong, fuck it all up.

“Bite me.”

Alastor’s mouth moved to his companion’s neck, kisses turning to nibbles, nibbles turning to bites that left Angel bruised and mewling for more.

“What else?” Alastor questioned before returning to his work.

“T-Touch me again,” Angel breathed out, back arching involuntarily when he felt Alastor’s fingers wrap around his once-again-hard cock and begin to stroke. Alastor continued to kiss and bite at his skin, leaving marks that Angel would have regretted were they from anyone else. 

“F-Fuck me,” Angel gasped, unprompted this time, grinding his ass against the front of Alastor’s slacks. He immediately regretted saying it, knowing it was a long shot, knowing that he’d probably gone too far, crossed that invisible line that always existed between them. He started to turn, started to open his mouth and apologize or give some excuse for what he’d said, when he heard the telltale sounds of undressing occurring on the bed behind him. He froze, staring again at his clenched fists before him, until he felt Alastor’s dick pressing against his ass.

“A-Al…” he managed to get out before the cock slowly pressed into him, transforming any sounds coming from his mouth into low moans. 

It was a tight fit, and Alastor had only magicked a thin layer of lube before sliding in, but he moved slowly, filling Angel with his length before pulling back out so that just the tip remained. Then, when he didn’t hear any protests from the man beneath him, Alastor repeated the move, again and again, sliding in and out of Angel with more and more force each time. Angel’s moans echoed around the room and as Alastor picked up pace, nails digging into Angel’s hips as he guided his body movements, Angel pulled a hand away from the sheets and began to jack himself off, fervently matching Alastor’s rhythm of thrusts.

“Fuck Al… Fuck, yes… Harder… Harder Al…”

The request was easily accepted, Alastor ramming into Angel until the man was choking on his moans and gasps. Angel felt one of Alastor’s hands leave his hips and entangle in his hair, tugging his head back so that his whole body arched downward. The feeling of Alastor’s cock throbbing in his ass, of his hands grabbing at his body, of his dick getting stroked faster and faster--it was building up in him and before he could manage to stop himself, he’d uttered a new request.

“Fuck, cum in me Al, fuck, please, please do it.”

And as he felt Alastor shudder behind him, felt his ass fill with that hot liquid, Angel came all over those nice satin sheets, streaks of pale white contrasting the deep red color. He collapsed to the side of the mess when Alastor pulled out of him, breath coming out in short, heated gasps, eyes hooded. He watched the way Alastor held himself up, gripping one of the supporting posts of the bed, his visage flickering between the human form he’d been wearing and the more familiar demonic one. It gave Angel a bit of solace, knowing the other was struggling keeping his composure, too. Angel was, after all, supposed to be the sex expert--the sexpert, if you will--the one who came away from a fuck like a conquering Napoleon. Instead, he was left panting, covered in his own cum, a puddle of need and surging feelings of desperation. 

"You know," Angel mentioned, chuckling a bit through his heavy breathing, "I think this... is the first time... I've ever seen... that look... on your face... It's cute."

And then he rolled onto his back, eyes closing, releasing a sigh of content. He felt the tingle of Alastor's magic, presumably to clean the sheets, before the bed bent with the other's weight next to him. He chanced a glance at the man beside him. Alastor was on his back, hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed. He was back to his demon form, red hair and deer ears galore, and Angel glanced down to see that he, too, had returned to the spider form he'd grown accustomed to. 

"I don't think I've ever heard you beg like that," Alastor remarked in return, eyes still closed, though his lips twitched into a broader smile. "It's cute." Angel felt just the slightest twinge of disappointment at how it sounded, how his voice was back to its animated, background-supported radio tunage, the sultry tones of his human form back in the grave.

Angel rolled his eyes, but managed to get the courage up to scoot over against the other's side. Alastor didn't protest and Angel's gut did a little flip. What did that all just mean? Did it mean anything? What did sex even mean to someone like Alastor? Hell, he'd never done it before, right? Fuck, he'd never done it before. _Fuck_, Angel thought to himself, cheeks uncharacteristically alighting with color, _I just took the Radio Demon's virginity._

"So what'd ya think?" he murmured out, feigning a tone of disinterest, like he wasn't hanging on every word Alastor was about to say.

"Well, it was my first time doing anything like that," Alastor remarked and Angel grimaced, remembering that not only had Alastor been so good that Angel had forgotten how to be an actual participant instead of a receiver, but he had been that good on his _first try_. Alastor finally opened his eyes, glancing sidelong at Angel, grin sly. "Not bad."

Puffing with indignation, Angel sat up quickly, arms folding as he lifted his chin away from Alastor's form and pouted. Not bad? _Just_ not bad? Angel didn't admit to himself that a lot of this was coming from the fact that he had thought it was fucking fantastic.

"Well damn, don't you just know how to fucking ruin a mood," he grumbled, pout deepening. Of course Alastor wasn't going to go on a compliment rant, of course he wasn't going to extol Angel's skills (not that he had used any of them, so distracted by his own bodily needs as he was). 

Alastor didn't reply at first, but Angel felt him re-situate on the bed. He jumped when he felt the other grab his face and guide it back towards him. When he opened his eyes, Alastor was smiling at him, eyes slightly hooded, the expression intoxicating. It was that same look, like Angel was the center of the universe, like nothing else mattered. Angel felt all reservations fall away, barriers disintegrated by a single gaze.

"You didn't have to do all that if you didn't want to," he murmured, sounding more honest and vulnerable than he perhaps wanted to.

"I did want to," Alastor remarked, thumb running slow circles across the fur of Angel's cheek, "because you wanted to." 

Angel swallowed slowly, heart beating like a kickdrum. He wondered, faintly, if those big ears of Al's could hear the discordant rhythm. He reached up, tentatively, placing a gloved hand over Alastor's. He refused to break eye contact, even though his brain was screaming at him to look away.

"I love you," he said again, the bravest utterance yet, stronger, more confident.

"I'm glad you do," Alastor responded, and Angel figured that was as good as he was going to get from the Radio Demon at that point. But it was enough, at least for now. His eyes closed as Alastor kissed him, grinning against those lips as Alastor pulled him back down onto the bed. He noted, between embraces, "You should say it more often."

"Will you fuck me again if I do?"

Angel didn't even have to see the eye roll, feeling it in the way Alastor moved under him.

"Probably," Alastor murmured against Angel's lips, making sparks fly all over, "though only if you keep begging like that."

Angel shivered at the grin Alastor pressed against his lips.

"Deal."


End file.
